


Death Be Not Unkind

by spittingfeathers



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, BAMF Bilbo, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Courtship, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fix-It, Fluff, Genderswap, M/M, Rating May Change, Rule 63, Thilbo, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, bagginshield, dams, dwarrowdams, fem Dori, fem Ori, fem!Bilbo, killiel - Freeform, meddling wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 65,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/pseuds/spittingfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilba Baggins, Hobbit Burglar of Erebor finds herself back in Bag End, young and healthy once more, she begins enjoying her afterlife in Yavannas Garden (the Hobbit equivalent to the Halls of Waiting) when thirteen familiar Dwarves turn up at her door, raid her pantry and start throwing about her dishes. Gandalf is convinced she's the right Hobbit Burglar for the job, but Bilba's done all this before and no one remembers but her. What's a Hobbit to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remember Me

Bilba Baggins was annoyed. No! She was more than annoyed, more than angry, she was _furious!_ She had died at the ripe old age of one hundred and thirty and apparently passing into the Green Lady’s care in peace was too much to ask for. And as much as she loved her Dwarves, their continued joke of ‘Ignore and Bother The Burglar’ in what was supposed to be a restful afterlife was surely going to give her a stroke! Yavanna help her if they didn’t stop this nonsense soon!

“Gandalf, do something!” she had exclaimed when they proceeded to repeat their cheerful sing-song of ‘That’s what Bilba Baggins Hates!’ and toss about her Westfarthing Crockery.

While she may not have had the reverence for her delicately decorated dishes that she once did, they were still very important to her, and she wouldn’t hesitate to show them just how _much_ they meant to her if they were broken. They had not harmed them the first time but it was best not to tempt fate, even in the afterlife it was fickle.

The wizard had smiled at her with the damn twinkle in his eye and his gentle throat clearing was not enough to be heard over the noise of boot stamping and chants. Even Fili and Kili were beginning to get on her last nerve, her boys, who’d almost made her cry when Fili had dumped his weapons in her arms, gave her a cheeky wink while Kili called her Miss Boggins and scraped his mucky boots on her mother’s glory box.

Her afterlife was turning out to be a nightmare; she’d never imagined death would be this stressful. Her friends, who’d demolished her pantry for a second time, camped and struggled and fought together through their journey to reclaim Erebor were acting as though they’d never met her before. Their cheery dispositions and cheeky winks were amusing at first, Bilba being content to go along with their joke, but now, a full two hours after they’d started to appear at her door, they still made no mention of their past association and friendships with her and she was now thoroughly _pissed_. She deserved at least a little respect for facing down Smaug, and then a little more for hosting their boisterous selves in her home!

“… _when you’ve finished if any are whole, send them down the hall to roll… THAT’S WHAT BILBA BAGGINS HATES!”_

Twelve dwarves and one wizard broke out in cheers, gasping laughter and claps when they’d finished. Bilba stood angrily at the entrance to her dining room, her eye twitching, a sure sign of stress, as they looked smugly from her angry face to the neat piles of dishes and plates they’d stacked neatly on the table.

“C’mon, lass we’re jus’ teasin’” Bofur grinned slinging his arm around her shoulders, his easy smile and _ridiculous_ hat had always soothed her anger somewhat when they were travelling, and she couldn’t stay mad at him for long. She allowed the corner of her lips to tilt upward and she rolled her eyes as Kili and Fili cheered.

It _was_ good to see them all. Perhaps she had been too harsh, they were only teasing after all…

The company’s raucous cheering was cut off by a heavy knock on the door and they fell into the predictable silence, Gandalf’s mysterious announcement of “ _he’s here”_ was drowned out by the hurried scrapes of chairs across her wooden floors as they hurried out into the hall.

At the first words her fourteenth guest for the night spoke the rest of what he said was covered by the rush of blood roaring in her ears “…I got lost twice”.

_“Betrayer! Deceitful whelp!” she couldn’t breathe, her small hands were nothing compared to the strength in his and his fist tightened around her throat as her feet dangled in cold above the battlements, “I should throw you down to the elves and men you_ love _so much! Their camp is already full of traitors and oath breakers, what is one more?”_

“Miss Baggins?” Ori was at her side, gloved hand resting tentatively on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Bilba had leant forward to grip her sideboard and had been staring sightlessly at the grain without realising.

“Yes,” she stood shaking her head as though that could clear her mind, and straightened, “I am, Ori thank you.” The young scribe, barely past her majority offered Bilba a tentative smile and slipped back out into the hall, Bilba following hesitantly, her palms sweating and heart beating too fast to be normal.

Gandalf, as he always was in her Smial, unless sitting down, was bent at the waist to avoid bashing his head on the ceiling. He towered over the dwarves gathered in her hall while he conversed with another whose voice, stance or even silhouette Bilba would never forget. Gandalf noticed her hovering hesitantly at the back of the group and smiled at her to wave her forward. “Ah, Bilba let me introduce you to the leader of the company, Thorin Oakenshield Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, king of the dwarves of Erebor.” The company parted so she could step through and every eye was trained on her, burning like brands into the back of her curly haired head.

 Even in travel clothes no one could deny Thorin Oakenshield looked every part a king. She knew she looked terrified, sure they could all _smell_ her fear. Would they stop this joke now Thorin was here?

“So this is the Hobbit.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

_“She should never have come, she has been lost since she left home,” Bilba was shaking from the cold and adrenaline rushing through her system, “she has no place among us!”_

“Tell me Miss Baggins, what is your weapon of choice,” was she dreaming? It was certainly, elaborate…but if this was her dream and she could control it, why did they not remember her?

“Hammer…Sword?”

Thorin was circling her now and she could see Gandalf’s twinkling gaze at the corner of her vision. If this was truly her dream Gandalf would have stopped this joke long ago and they would have been sharing stories and more tasteful jokes about what had happened since she had left them all those years ago.

Thorin’s smirk was still as annoying as she remembered it. “I have some skill in conkers and with my letter opener if you would care to remember!” she snapped back.

His look was somewhere between amused and disdainful. “I thought so, you look more like grocer or clerk than a burglar,” Bilba’s blood turned from cold to boiling in a second as they all laughed. LAUGHED! As if she hadn’t had enough of it directed at her this evening!

There were none in her hall that could have stopped her from delivering the stinging slap to Thorin Oakenshield’s cheek if they’d tried.

Had Bilba not been so angry she would have laughed at Thorin’s startled expression as he took a step back, bringing a callused hand to touch his reddening cheek in shock, the company was deadly silent behind her; even Gandalf was looking at her with wide eyes.

“That was not funny the first time Thorin Oakenshield and I’ll be damned if it would ever be funny a _second time_ —“ Bilba snarled, trying desperately to hold onto her anger, when it could too soon turn to tears. She didn’t want to give them something else to laugh about. “I have had enough of your jokes and although they may be funny to you, they are certainly _not to me!_ ” she turned to cast a glare at the rest of the company who were standing stiffly, most she could see were itching to put their hands on their weapons, “and if you don’t stop it this minute you can all leave! I will not be disrespected or belittled in my own home, especially after all we’ve gone through together!”

The only sound in the hall was from Bilba’s heavy breathing and as she scanned their faces, her heart gave a painful lurch in her chest. They looked a mix between suspicious and confused, she turned back to Thorin whose face was darkening slowly like a storm – even Gandalf was looking at her as though he’d never seen her before.

“Uncle,” Kili asked slowly as he broke the tense silence, “how do you two know each other?”

Bilba looked from Kili to Thorin, and suddenly with a terrible realisation she found Kili’s question to be true – not a lie or joke at all, but genuine.

Bilba’s anger, as she feared it would, turned to tears and the company’s eyes widened as the Hobbit lass’ face crumpled, shoulders hunched as she dashed between them, her sobs were quickly followed by the slam of a door, and then, silence.

Gandalf was the first to speak, his soft “Oh dear.” Led the way for the others to give their assessments as shouting broke out between the group of dwarves while their leader, Thorin Oakenshield glared at the wizard, the small red handprint standing out brightly against his bearded cheek.

If it wasn’t for the clearly mystified expression on Tharkun’s face, Balin would have suspected the wizard had planned this.


	2. Impossible Reality

_Bilba remembers her mother talking about Yavannas Garden when she was younger. Her first encounter with death was finding a rabbit curled up underneath a bush whilst on a walk in the Woods. When the rabbit didn’t move as she got closer, and then poked it gently with a stick, her first reaction was tears. “Why isn’t it moving mama? Is it sick?” because surely it would wake up if she’d poked it so the rabbit couldn’t truly be asleep._

_“It’s dead, darling, as happens to all living things in the end.”_

_Her bottom lip had trembled and Belladonna had held her close. “What will happen to it now?” she had asked, still looking at the soft fur and stiff limbs curled into a ball._

_Belladonna ran a hand through Bilba’s wild curly hair and told her. Death was not the end for Yavanna’s creatures. When something died, their bodies would be given back to the earth so they would help the world around them to grow. Their souls on the other hand would journey to the Garden of Yavanna, said to be a wondrous place that could turn the old, young again or to the age they’d been happiest. In the Garden you were able to meet all your friends, family and do your favourite things and eat lots of food. It was there where the souls would remain until the end of time, in peace and contentment._

_Wiping away her tears Bilba had followed her mother’s instructions, helping to dig out a small shallow grave from the soft soil with their hands. Belladonna laid the rabbit gently in the hole, covering it with moss and leaves before moving the layer of earth back over the top._

_“And when I die will I get to go to Yavanna’s garden too?” Bilba asked. Her young face was scrunched up in thought as she looked between her mother and the tiny rabbit’s grave._

_Belladonna smiled lovingly at her daughter, “yes dear, but not for a **long** while yet.”_

_“And you, mama?”_

_“Me too, darling.”_

_They had walked home soon after, Bilba’s father, Bungo, huffing fondly at their mucky hands and feet, told them to wash up for dinner._

In all her years she had never forgotten about Yavannas Garden although she had expected something _more_ …well, something _more_.

Bilba estimated she had been in ‘Yavannas Garden’ just under a week. It was calm and peaceful and Bilba _had_ been reunited with her friends and family, many of whom who had passed on, but there were little inconsistencies that had Bilba doubting herself.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had sent Bilba a letter the previous day with a list of reasons why she should let her and Otho have Bag End instead, ( _seeing as you are yet to be wed and unlikely to have children when she and her dear Otho are expecting! I am sure it is a boy—“)_ Then again Bilba was sure Lobelia would be the same wherever she was. It was not all unpleasant (but still _odd_ ), her cousin Drogo Baggins, one of her more kindly Baggins relatives, was only just _beginning_ to court Primula Brandybuck – and surely, if she had truly been in Yavannas Garden, wouldn’t they be married and living together already? There was also the fact that she could not find her parents anywhere.

There were a few more inconsistencies that had left Bilba worrying that she was stuck in some sort of strange day-dream that she could not wake herself from. Oh she had pinched her arms hard enough to bruise – for surely if she was young again, barely 50, she _had_ to be in Yavanna’s Garden, for anything else was **impossible!**

Bilba looked out at the peaceful landscape of the shire, the stars twinkling brightly in the sky and prayed desperately to the Green Lady that this was _truly_ her garden, and not some nightmare she’d fallen into. _“Please_ ,” she whispered, “if I’m not truly dead, let this all be just a dream and I wake up soon… _”_ Bilba leant her head back against the rough bark of the oak tree and closed her eyes, tears running steadily down her cheeks. Her head felt too full of thoughts and memories and a steady pain pushed against the back of her skull. It felt all too real.

“Perhaps they were right to call me Mad Baggins,” she murmured to herself swallowing thickly as she fought back more tears.

Secretly, at the back of her mind, Bilba had perhaps known that it wasn’t some fever-dream, but denial had always been much easier to believe than acknowledging reality.

Like how in her stories the Heroes in her stories always lived.

How there were not Thirteen dead dwarves devouring her pantry and messing up her plumbing.

Bilba hung her head and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“This is such a mess.”

***********

“So you _don’t_ know Miss Boggins then, Uncle?”

Thorin fought not to smack some sense into his nephew or slam his head against one of the wooden archways. “ **No Kili** , as I said, I have never met the woman!” he repeated, “she’s clearly mistaken me for someone else.” The rest of the company were eagerly discussing Gandalf’s strange friend.

Balin leant forward to rest his arms on the table and shook his head, snowy white beard trembling as he did so, “No, Laddie, I can understand mistaking _one_ of us for a moment – but all of us? We are all quite distinctive in our own ways,” he looked slowly at Nori’s pointed hairstyle, Dwalin’s tattoos, Gloin’s fiery red beard and Ori’s layers of knit she was always wrapped up in. “No. Somehow, she knows us.”

“Or at least _thinks_ she knows us,” Fili put in, they had moved back to the large table in the dining room.

“She’s mad,” Nori declared loudly and silence fell in the room, “what? Don’t look at me like that! You heard her back there ‘ _especially after all we’ve gone through together’_ I’ve never met the lass in my life – and if I had I wouldn’t be forgettin’ her in a hurry—“ Nori widened his eyes meaningfully and made a gesture with his hands that made his meaning even clearer.

Dori thumped her brother’s arm hard and scowled at him, “Don’t be so crass, Nori!” she jerked her head in the direction of Ori sitting beside her with a glare. Dori still mothered her younger sister as though she was barely in her thirties, despite already being of age. “There’s no need to be rude!”

“Yes Amad!” Nori mocked, rubbing his now tender arm, it was sure to bruise.

“She seemed surprised at our comin’” Dwalin told Thorin in his usual gruff manor, “mentioned that it was _‘good to see me’_ but wished the wizard had told her first.”

“Aye,” Bofur interrupted , “the lass even hugged me – I’m not as forward as all that but she seemed as though she knew me – though like Nori, I’d never forget a pretty face!” Bofur’s charming smile shone, “she even complimented me hat! She’s alright in my book—”

Of course, the dwarves all eager to share their opinions on their odd Burglar began to make their chatter louder in an effort to be heard, some leaning over the table and shouting in an effort to be heard. Discussing the qualities and quirks the Hobbit possessed had prompted much discussion despite the Company having known her for very little time.

“She’s got a mean slap if yer Uncle’s cheek’s any indication—”

“Mad as a bloody hatter, I swear it, best we cut our losses and get out of here before she comes back—”

Ori’s voice suddenly rose above the din, “I think she’s nice!”

“Bloody suspicious – you know what they says about people who knows yer?” Gloin boomed.

“No, what?”

Oin nodded, glad for once that he didn’t have to use his ear horn, and finished his brother’s speech. “That they don’t know you from flesh and blood – could be foul things at play…”

Bifur gave a loud growl and proceeded to tell the rest of the company what he thought of their nasty insinuations about the Burglar who had been nice to him all night. Of course, it wasn’t as eloquent as that, with a lot more swearing, growling and sharp gestures in Iglishmêk.

“Aye, I agree, far too soft a creature ter be misleadin’, perhaps a bit o’ stress scrambled her head?”

Gandalf who had been silent till now, lost in thought and puffing on his pipe, stood (as usual hunched over) and the dwarves quietened. “I do not believe Miss Baggins means you any harm,” he said deliberately, “while she does not seem to remember my visit last week is…odd, I am sure there is a reasonable explanation, and one I am sure she would be willing to share with us when I fetch her in.” the dwarves shared looks before Thorin nodded at the wizard.

Gandalf shuffled awkwardly through the Hobbit home and out into the garden where Bilba had scarpered.

“I do not like it.” Dwalin uttered from his seat beside Balin.

“Nor I brother, something doesn’t sit right with me.” Balin replied, watching as Thorin scowled at his bowl of stew and loaf of bread Kili had pulled from somewhere.

*********

“This is such a mess…”

“It could be that,” Gandalf interrupted making Bilba jolt in place, she hadn’t heard him approach having been so focused on her thoughts. “But whether it is a good or bad mess remains to be seen…” he trailed off, settling down beside Bilba with ease. He said nothing else, but the silence was expectant and Bilba felt compelled to break it.

“I’m not dead am I?” It was the second time she had startled him tonight, Bilba thought wistfully. Startling wizards, while not a particularly safe pass time was quite amusing, especially with the way Gandalf’s bushy eyebrows rose so high they disappeared under the brim of his hat.

The wizard coughed and blinked rapidly, like a startled deer, “I assure you Bilba, you are indeed alive—“ he reached for her wrist and felt her pulse beating steadily, “see, healthy as your prizewinning tomatoes” Bilba lets out a watery chuckle. “I wonder what makes you believe yourself to be in Yavanna’s Garden, and although the Shire _is_ a lovely place, I imagine that there would be some differences between the two.”

“I suppose it was the first thing I thought of. I tried not to look deeper into it – it’s too fantastical to be real.”

Gandalf hummed thoughtfully. “I doubt there would be dwarves admitted either,” he told her softly. “However I would be interested in what you can remember before you found yourself here – if you were somewhere else _before_ …”

Bilba sighed and shifted so she was leaning more into Gandalf’s side. “The last thing I remember before waking up here was sailing to the Undying Lands with Lord Elrond and his sons Elladan and Elrohir…” Bilba looked out at the dark sky feeling tension radiate from Gandalf in waves though he did his best to hide it. Her voice was wistful, “I remember the call going out that the island was in sight, I had moved toward the rails of the ship and leant over to get a better look…I remember the sun on my face and the cool breeze flowing by, the sheen of the water and then…nothing.” Bilba cannot bear to look at Gandalf and his eyes seem to burn straight through her skin and into her very bones. Bilba spoke softly, the wizard beside her an ever attentive listener and she is glad he cannot see her face. “Then…I wake up in Bag End. My bones no longer ache and I can see and hear everything clear as crystal, and sometimes it’s as though my senses have been magnified tenfold.” Now she looks at him and she fears the look of hushed awe in his eyes.

“Amazing…” he breathes after a moment’s silence, “it seems as though your soul has travelled _back_ in time, though I don’t have any idea _how_ or even if it’s been done before…is there anything else?” he asks her eagerly.

Bilba flattens her hands against the grass, running her fingers through the thin green blades using the repetitive motion to calm her. “Strange things have been happening around me Gandalf, and even if I’m alive, surely I must be mad.” Bilba remembers the whispers as she walks, though there is no one around to speak them. This, more than anything she had been trying to ignore, being sure to act as normal as possible until she could get back to Bag End and has not left Bag End in two days.

“I am sure we will find out soon enough, but you’re not wrong,” Gandalf says quietly. There is a funny sort of wistfulness to his voice, “I think there is madness in all of us.”

“Perhaps in your case it is from smoking too much Old Toby,” she tells him, quietly amused at his effort to comfort her.

“Ah,” he sighs, “then I am afraid I shall go mad, for the flavour is worth it.”

Bilba’s smile falters and she turns to look properly at Gandalf. “I’m barely fifty Gandalf, it’s as though my life never happened – I’m back to being entirely respectable and Lobelia’s still after my silver and…you’ve all forgotten me.”

Gandalf looks at her sternly, “If we had a choice, I doubt any of us would choose to forget you, Bilba Baggins.” The corner of his lip quirks upwards, “though I’m sure you’ve already made _quite_ the impression on His Majesty.”

Bilba groaned mournfully as Gandalf chuckled.

“Now then my dear, while the night’s sky is very beautiful, I suggest we go inside and see your dwarves, it seems you have quite the tale to tell!”

“They’re not my dwarves” she mumbled as they stood and the wizard smiled. _At least not anymore_.

Had the Hobbit and Wizard stayed a little longer under the tree they may have seen the branches twist and stretch, then the bark split with a crack! A large hole emerged toward the top of the trunk before two smaller holes appeared a little way above filled with amber, smooth and shining in the moonlight. With the sudden shift in the trees bark it was almost as if it had a face! How odd!

If Bilba had seen the tree herself then perhaps she would have broken down sooner…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I've been blown away by all the comments, hits and kudos for this that I had this chapter finished almost straight away! Thank you so much!
> 
> Chapter 3 is currently in the works!
> 
> I have a Tumblr if anyone's interested titled 'fatynthemachine' where I post fanart (more to come soon) and reblog the Hobbit, Harry Potter, Legend of Korra, art things, animations and other stuff :) Feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions or just to chat!


	3. What Makes A King?

“Some proof then!” Gloin demanded as Dwalin scoffed. They had been two of the more sceptical members of the company.

“I…I don’t have anything to _show_ you now but—”

Dwalin cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s impossible – never heard anythin’ like it in my life!”

Had they been Bilba’s dwarves, they would have recognised the pinched smile taking over the Hobbit’s face as sign of danger.

“So by your logic I should not know about Gimli then?”

Gloin stiffened in his seat and turned to face her, the rest of the dwarves looking on warily. “If you’ll be threatnin’ my boy—”

Now it was Bilba’s turn to scoff. She scrubbed her face with a hand. “Of course I wouldn’t threaten Gimli!” There were more mutterings and Bilba knew she was going to lose their attention if she didn’t think of something quickly. “If I truly were a stranger to you all I could not _possibly_ know that the Dwarves of the Iron hills have said that this is ‘your quest and yours alone’, that they will not help you in reclaiming Erebor from the Dragon Smaug without the retrieval of a certain gem? The Arkenstone – the Kings Jewel – and King Thror took its discovery as a sign that his right to rule was Divine.” Of course, they had mentioned this when Bilba had been outside with Gandalf, but she could have been listening. Bilba grew more worked up as she continued to speak. It was _hard_ seeing her dwarves, whole and healthy, looking at her with such distrust. “‘ _Smaug The Terrible’_ who has not been seen for sixty years and many believe to be dead. You wish to venture in, see if he still lives, and if so reclaim the Arkenstone so you may call the dwarves to your banner _who should have loyally answered_ in the first place!” her fist came down on the table with a loud bang.

“And what would _you_ know of loyalty?” Thorin growled from the head of the table.

“A damn sight more than they do that’s for sure!” She turned to Thorin who shifted angrily at her words. “It is not a bloody rock that will make you a king.” The dwarves all bristled at their ‘Arkenstone’ being called a ‘bloody rock’ but Bilba ignored it. “What makes a King is leading your people to a new home when all seemed lost – working in the cities of men until you could scarcely make it back to your room before collapsing from tiredness!”

Bilba stood and put both hands flat on her table, leaning forward to look Thorin Oakenshield directly in the eye. “What makes a king is creating a new life, a _good_ life for your displaced people, so much so that you would not even need to reclaim Erebor should you wish it! The only reason this venture has come to the fore is by the will of a meddling wizard and his cryptic insistence that ‘It Is Time’. Your Grandfather and ancestors did well enough without the Arkenstone didn’t they? They inspired loyalty and did the best by their people didn’t they? That is what you have done – and it is what you continue to do!”

A little beat of satisfaction ran through her when she noticed that she had turned the scrutiny of the dwarves to Thorin who was now glowering at her, though the intensity was lost under his uncomfortable shifting.

 “I also knew about the map.” She reminded them.

 “Anyone could know that!” Oin bellowed. His ear horn was made redundant in all the shouting.

Her dwarves had taken weeks upon weeks to warm up to her, but she’d broken through their hard exteriors one by one until they had all been as close as family. Once you gained the trust of a Dwarf they were the most steadfast of friends.

She had even been named an honorary dwarf before… _before_.

 _Well then how about this_ , Bilba thought.

“Dwalin, son of Fundin,” she said, drawing the Company’s eyes between her and the warrior. “You have the sweetest tooth of anyone I have _ever_ met. You have a particular fondness for pastries with a berry filling when you can get them, especially raspberry ones. You collect them once a week from the back of the shop after your guard duty so no one will see you.”

Dwalin blustered but did not protest, Balin looked surprised but shrewd, already knowing this fact about his brother.

“Dori – you run a teashop in Ered Luin and joined the quest because Ori signed on as scribe – and Nori, seeing your family sign up, you signed on too to protect them, especially because they’re Dams and—“

“WHAT?”

“How did she know?”

“I thought my disguise was very good!”

“— _AND YOU SECRETLY LIKE DORI MOTHERING YOU NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU PROTEST_.” Bilba ignored the blush reddening her cheeks as the noise level dropped abruptly. “Bombur, you have seven children...and a eighth on the way.”

Bombur looked surprised. “Well,” he said slowly, “we hadn’t actually made the announcement yet…but it is true.” There were gasps and Bifur gave Bombur a hearty slap on the back and cheers in Khuzdul as Bilba carried on.

“Fili, you have a scar on your left foot from your first time in the forge at Ered Luin with your uncle – you were carrying some items to be repaired when you knocked a sword from the rack at the side and it cut right through your boot! Kili, while you have natural skill with the bow you decided to continue training with it because…your uncle, Prince Ferin favoured the bow too.” The company had quietened now, it was strange how they could go from shouting at one another to completely still at a moment’s notice.

Thorin’s steely eyed gaze was burning as she met the king’s eyes, speaking softly. “You prefer silver over Gold and Mithril.” It seemed the company were only a hazy backdrop compared to Thorin’s stare. She remembered how she had been terribly intimidated by the dwarves when they had entered her Smial and started raiding her pantry. “You used to go down to the silversmiths when you couldn’t sleep and would watch them work. You told me…for your Master work in the forges of Erebor you made a circlet of silver with tiny emeralds and white gems that shone like starlight.”

*****

Glares, suspicion and shouting. It was all they had done for the past hour and it was getting late.

A small part of Bilba wanted to keep _everything_ a secret rather than tell the Company the ‘main bits’ as Gandalf had suggested. If she hadn’t told them she probably could have stunned them with her adventuring skills (much improved upon the first time) and they may have looked on her more fondly sooner. But no matter how much she hated their stares and looks of suspicion, they deserved to know, like Gandalf said.

Bilba still had the feeling of being in a dream, seeing them all stomping about in her Smial and scowling suspiciously at her doilies and maps that she’d hung on the walls.

“You’re handling the situation well my dear,” Gandalf smiled, patting her on the shoulder as they waited for the company to quiet down _again_.

“So,” Kili prompts as he and Fili manage to slide into the seats to her left, “elves, huh?”

Bilba looks at them with fond amusement, “Yes, lots of elves.” She nods.

“How did uncle react?” Fili whispers quietly, the brothers lean in, the mischievous glint in their eyes makes her grin widen a little bit more.

“Terribly,” Bilba replies in hushed tones, “stomped about Rivendell muttering in Khuzdul and glowering at everything.” Bilba laughed, Fili and Kili joining in. “You were all _terrible_ guests.” Bilba tells them though her smile takes any harm out of the comment, “why, tonight you were practically _tame_ considering! You were all offered rooms which you denied – a big mistake believe me, the beds are heavenly – and slept on a balcony instead so you could all be together—“

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Fili told her, his moustache braids wiggling as he spoke.

“—you stole from their stores and broke several priceless pieces of furniture so you could cook your spoils! Bofur sang a drinking song in the middle of the first formal dinner we had, dancing on the stone plinth, you started throwing food and it went _everywhere_. Nori decided that he wanted some ‘keepsakes’…”

“Ah, that’s nothing!” Kili waved a dismissive hand, “we can do better this time can’t we?”

“If you mean behave then yes, you will!” Bilba said sternly, the effect was lessened as she fought a smile.

“We will not be going to Rivendell.”

Bilba found Thorin staring at her intently. “Excuse me?” she said politely.

Thorin cleared his throat, aware that everyone was now looking at him and folded his arms across his broad chest. “We will not be going to Rivendell.” He repeated. Bilba had heard him perfectly well the first time. Hadn’t he been listening to Gandalf when the Wizard explained how important it was to keep main events the same? That way they could at least have a _little_ bit of foresight before the times changed too drastically, avoiding Rivendell could potentially spell disaster! “Now that you have told us what the map says there is no need to trespass on elven lands – this could cut our journey shorter by two weeks, perhaps even three now we have your unique _perspective_.”

Bilba mimicked his posture, crossing her arms over her fine velvet waistcoat. “Well I for one would _like_ to go to Rivendell, not to mention that it would aid us in keeping our timeframe. I also wish to seek the council of Lord Elrond—” a loud round of objections rose and Bilba fought to keep herself heard over the top of their shouting, “—he is a dear friend of mine and has offered much insight in my…ahem, previous life. It is possible he may have some insight into how and why I am in this situation, and if not, there may be something in the Elven library that will help me understand.”

“You would tell the elves of our _quest_?” Thorin glowered. “They will try to detain us again! Elves like change least of all and concern themselves with the other mortal races of Middle Earth even less, they are like statues, standing still while the world moves on around them. _They are not to be trusted_.”

Bilba fought not to roll her eyes. _Stubborn dwarves._ “You would get along well with Lord Elrond if you realised he is _not Thranduil_.” At the name of the Elven King, Thorin stiffened in his seat. “I intend to go to Rivendell whether you accompany me or not and I _will_ seek the council of Lord Elrond on my situation. I will still aid you in your quest, but Rivendell is a good opportunity for replenishing supplies and being able to _truly_ rest before we journey through the Misty Mountains. I would not betray you, I swear it.”

Thorin’s face twisted like he had tasted something sour.

“Please.” Bilba pleaded, the tension was so thick in the room she could cut it with a knife.

“I…I will think about it.” He grumbled.

Bilba beamed.

*****

She could hear the dwarves muttering and clomping about in her smial as she packed.

Four pairs of trousers, four shirts, a fur lined jacket her mother had brought back from her travels and one waistcoat. She rolled up her winter cloak to lie beside her pack as she thought of other things she’d need. Bilba dug out her sewing kit and a small box of coins from underneath a loose board in the floor that she used for emergencies, setting aside a hefty pouch which she would gradually sew into the seams of her clothes on the long pony-ride out of the Shire. She packed underwear and bindings for her chest. Herbs and cloths for her monthlies and a pouch of Old Toby as well as her pipe were set on top. Of course she had to pack her handkerchiefs –

**_Far over the Misty Mountains cold…_ **

The soft cotton crumpled in her hands and Bilba felt a chill sweep over her. She stared blankly at the delicately embroidered BB in the corner as memories played behind her eyes…

**_To dungeons deep and caverns old_ …**

_Battle was much different to how she had expected it to be. The sounds and stench of battle could never be accurately described in a novel or history. It seemed to drag on forever, moments flitting between incredible detail and blurred recollections through a haze of pain and fear. She could see it all now. Cheerful Bofur, his body mangled and unrecognisable save for that ridiculous hat that he never seemed to take off…_

**_We must away, ere break of day…_ **

_Fili and Kili huddled together in mud blood and guts, their bodies pierced with arrows and spears trying to protect each other till the very end…_

**_To find our long forgotten gold…_ **

_Bifur had taken a hit to his head that drove the Orcish blade in his skull deeper – he fell into the dirt to be trampled by enemies and allies alike…_

**_The Pines were roaring on the height_ **

_Dori fell as she tried to get to Ori and Nori who had been swarmed by goblins, torn apart by two Wargs a look of surprise and pain frozen on her face…_

**_The winds were moaning in the night_ **

_Balin, Oin and Ori having fought so bravely and survived the Battle Of Five Armies with broken bones and a multitude of long ropey scars, only to fall in Moria as goblins and Orcs infested another dwarf stronghold. Their numbers so great the terrible creatures overwhelmed the strongest and most skilled Dwarven warriors._

**_The fire was red, it flaming spread_ **

_Dwalin, looking like a wild thing, was roaring as loud as Beorn as he cut his way through Orcs, Wargs and Goblins beside Gloin who was swinging his axes and bellowing trying to get to…_

**_The trees like torches blazed with light._ **

_…Thorin. Thorin who had lost his arm in revenge from Azog, a quiver full of arrows sticking out of his back and nearly gutted from the clawed hand of the Pale Orc before he managed to thrust Orcrist through the bastard’s chest, his breathing stuttering and blood trickling from between his cracked lips…_

And Bilba – she had escaped with nothing but a bump to the head, a few bruises and a twisted ankle, Bombur having found her lying underneath a Warg she’d managed to slay, covered in blood and guts.

They’d stumbled back to the healing tents together, limping across the churned earth, trying to avoid stepping on the bodies and severed limbs that littered the ground around them. She can remember the foul cloud and putrid stench of burning Goblins, Orcs and Wargs that filled the air as the Dwarves, Men and Elves brought their wounded back to the healing tents or the dead to lay beside one another in long lines that grew and grew and never seemed to end...

Bilba buried her face in the pile of crumpled handkerchiefs to smother her sobs. The Dwarves quiet song and chatter had fallen silent now, no doubt they could hear her pitiful whimpering.

Eventually Bilba forced back her tears, breath stuttering and scrubbed furiously at her eyes as though she could wipe away the memories.

What she had been through had not happened yet.

What she had _seen_ had not happened yet.

She was a Hobbit, a Baggins, and a Took and she’d sooner kiss an Orc before she let _any_ of her friends die a second time!

Bilba shakily got to her feet and brushed down her clothes. There was a lot to do and very little time in which to do it.

She was in the Shire, she was safe, and her dwarves were alive. Alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dwarves know and Bilba's resolve strengthens, next chapter the Journey begins!


	4. Farewells

No matter how soft the bed or warm the covers, Ori, youngest daughter of the Ri family, could not sleep. An hour ago she, Dori and Nori had been shown to their room by Mistress Baggins, the company’s Burglar, and had promptly claimed the double bed with her older sister Dori while Nori made a nest of pillows and blankets to sleep on by the door.

It was nearing midnight and she’d gone to fetch a glass of water to help her sleep, noticing the light from Mistress Baggins room was still shining under her door. Then, the scratching of a quill on parchment gave Ori a clue to what the Hobbit was doing up so late. Maybe she was making a will? Ori had written her own before they left Ered Luin – not that she had a lot to her name.

Ori had teetered on the edge of knocking on the door and checking up on the Hobbit. They’d all heard her crying when they sang the song of the Lonely Mountain, and she knew they all felt at least a little bit guilty for being so harsh with her in the beginning, especially realising that the throwing of her plates was seen as teasing rather than assisting to clear up.

“You will find that in some ways Hobbits and Dwarves may be similar, but in others quite different.” Gandalf told them with a twinkle in his eye when they began to speak about the Hobbit in Khuzdul.

Ori finished her water and returned to their room, snuggling back under the covers next to Dori and tried to sleep. However, no matter how she lay or how many gems she counted she still couldn’t settle.

“Alright Ori, what’s wrong?” Dori sighed softly when Ori couldn’t stop fidgeting.

“Do you think Mistress Baggins is alright?” she asked without preamble. Dori sighed and reached over, pulling Ori into her arms easily, resting her head on Dori’s arm comfortably.

“I can’t imagine so, love” she replied quietly, “if what Mistress Baggins says is true then it must have been quite the shock. I know that to be true after we heard her cry.”

Ori nodded burrowing into her sister’s side. “I believe her – I think she _is_ telling the truth Dori.”

Dori ran a hand through Ori’s reddish brown hair. “Well then we’ll soon find out won’t we?”

“Gives me the shivers,” Nori muttered drowsily from his nest of blankets. “…and travelling with _elves_ too…bah!” Ori giggled quietly and Dori’s eyes twinkled as their brother pulled his blankets over his head and grumbled at them to “G _o to sleep!_ ”

*****

Bilba looked over her letter with a tired frown, a bit formal perhaps, but it would do. She was so tired that if she tried to write it out again it would end up an unreadable mess…

 

To Fortinbras and Meridas Took

The Great Smials,

 Tookburough,

The Shire

_Dear cousins,_

_By the time this letter reaches you I will be long gone. I am going on an Adventure you see, one which has come straight from the stories we loved so dearly as children, and from which I may never return. Cousins, please do not come after me. You would waste both your time and energy in doing so and I’m afraid there is nothing you could say that would bring me home again. Ah! Do not protest! Even if you decided to join me you would probably have to ride one of the baggage ponies! Or even share with me as there is little room left in our company with thirteen dwarves, one wizard and a hobbit! Gandalf has told me that stealth is of the utmost importance and a large party is not conductive to such a thing if we wish to remain undetected. All of my companions are experienced fighters and are well equipped to protect me._

_Do not fret (though it is hard when I write such a thing I know), I will do my best to keep my head and all my limbs intact for my return to Bag End! Be assured I shall throw the biggest and best party the Shire has ever seen if I am successful – I may even convince Gandalf to let off a few of his Whiz-poppers!_

_I tell you now cousins that I am not mad, no matter what the Shire busybodies will say about me when they find out I have left. I do this not for the gold that was promised (a 14 th share) but to regain a home that has been lost. _

_A beast’s occupation of their Mountain has forced the Dwarves of Erebor to flee, they became wanderers for a long time though they currently reside in the Blue Mountains – otherwise known as Ered Luin. The beast itself has not been seen for sixty years and now, in the hope that it is dead, we journey East._

_Should you feel the need to travel soon, like one of your many walking holidays to Bree, I would ask that you seek out Dis, Daughter of Thrain (sister to Thorin Oakenshield with whom I currently travel).I have been made aware that while Dwarves are skilled in all manner of crafts, farming is not one of them. While I am away I wish you to set up trade with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. Perhaps food and grains in exchange for new farming tools and other metal works? Hair clips and jewellery would also do should first trade agreements go well. You may use whatever immediate funds I have stored in Bag End, you know where they are. If you need extra money to support this venture feel free to ask Grandfather who I have placed the rest of my monies in trust. An introduction to Old Toby and Hamfast’s special cider should help soften their scowls. Dwarves are rather rough in manners they, like us, have been subject to scorn from their height and stereotypes, though If you give them a chance they shall become the most loyal of friends. And please, for all our sakes, **do not mention elves!**_

_I have left a copy of my will with Grandfather which should be implemented in three years of my departure should I not return. In the mean time, I wish for Drogo Baggins to be caretaker of Bag End and my various properties and lands – I have told him this in his own letter as well as my firm stipulation that neither he, nor his chosen partner should venture out in watercraft of any sort whilst I am away. Knowing how headstrong Primula is, and how easily Drogo is swayed by her, I ask that you and my other cousins also learn how to swim – I’m sure a ranger would be willing to be your tutor for this._

_Perhaps you should burn this letter after you can remember it as if it falls into the wrong hands I will be cast out of the Shire for sure! Furthermore, if you manage to prevent Lobelia or Otho from taking my mother’s West Farthing dinner service and her silver, I shall bring you both back an Elven bow!_

_All my love cousins and stay safe,_

_Bilba Baggins_

Daughter of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins

Bag End

Hobbiton

The shire

 

*****

No matter how odd it may seem, Bilba relishes each ache and pain as they begin their journey. Her pony named Myrtle plods placidly forward in the middle of the group between Fili and Kili who involve her in as much chatter as they can, asking question after question until she laughs and begs them to stop.

Their first days riding is cheerful as they leave the protection of the Shire and head towards Bree where they will stay in The Prancing Pony overnight and stock up on supplies for the journey.

While she may now have plenty of experience in riding ponies her young body does not. When they dismount and set up camp for the night at the edge of the road Bilba follows slowly with a muffled groan. She hasn’t complained about the pain in her thighs from their constant rubbing against the saddle, or how sore and cracked the skin is around her nose from her sniffling. Bilba is sure the dwarves, well Thorin at least, is glad she hasn’t spoken out about her discomfort.

_It’s probably what made him angry with me in the beginning, believing me to be a ‘soft and useless’ creature._ She thinks amusedly, looking fondly at the Dwarven King as he scowls at something and grumbles in his usual gruff manor.

While the Company mill about setting up their bedrolls and clearing a space for a fire, Bilba decided to join Kili and Fili collecting firewood in the surrounding woodland. The night is lovely and cool on her warm skin and Bilba rolls her shoulders as they walk, biting back hisses of pain when she bends down to pick up twigs and thicker branches. As well as her memories, Bilba wishes she could have brought back her tolerance for riding ponies and eating only three meals a day.

“Didn’t we ride ponies last time?” KIli asks when he notices her wince and grit her teeth.

Her pile of sticks is barely half of what Fili and Kili carry, though a fair amount for a hobbit. “What?” Bilba frowns, trying to hold her sticks more securely, “of course we did, how’d you think we managed to get to the door in time?” Bilba is sure her face is red by now, she’s dropping her sticks left and right, the pile almost too tall in her arms to see over and carrying them under one arm is impossible.

“Give them here,” Fili reaches over and adds Bilba’s collection to his own pile with ease, winking at her as she flushes.

“Then why—“ Kili waves awkwardly at Bilba who is rubbing her shoulder with one hand.

“Oh – well, it’s just the memories came back, not my body, though I dare say that I’d be in even more pain if that’d come back too!”

“Why?”

“Well, I was old!”

“How old?”

“One hundred and thirty or there about,” Bilba muses as she spots a cluster of mushrooms huddled at the root of a tree, completely missing the flabbergasted looks shared between the brothers. “-it’s quite a respectable age for a Hobbit, usually we live to be around one hundred and fifteen – though many of us have a lifespan more like that of Men than other races.”

_If only I had butter and some sage…_

“How old are you now?”

“I’m fifty,” Bilba says as she pulls out a clean handkerchief from her pocket and begins to gently pick the mushrooms and wrap them. They’d go well with the stew Bombur was setting up, all she needed to do now was clean and chop them before they could be added. Bilba stands with a smile, much happier now she has something to show for her joining the boys (Fili has taken her sticks after all), “are you ready to head back now?”

*****

Bilba lay awake in her bedroll, limbs tired and mind slow, her belly still warm from tonight’s thick pork stew she and Bombur had prepared. They’d been travelling together for four days now, the familiar snores of the Company had (later on) always managed to send her off to sleep, giving her a feeling of comfort and safety to know that the others were nearby. Despite this, she was still unable to sleep. She’d had trouble for months when she’d returned from the Lonely Mountain the first time, the stifling stillness and silence of Bag End had weighed on her like nothing else and it was only when Frodo later became her ward that the weight had lessened.

It was a cool night, uncharacteristically warm for the beginning of summer. There was something in the air that told Bilba it would rain soon though there was not a cloud in the sky and the stars shone brightly down at them through the canopy.

Bilba shifted in her blankets and sighed softly, covered up by the raucous snores of Gloin letting her mind drift in the hopes of getting at least a few hours sleep before they were due to head out once more.

_It’s a shame we couldn’t bring a wagon, though I don’t suppose a heavy cart is conductive to evading Orcs and Wargs._ Bilba would have filled it full of food, more sleeping mats and a pillow from home to rest her head and make the ground more comfortable. She wished she had the ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat like Gloin and Bombur.

_We should reach Bree at noon tomorrow and I’ll get a thicker cloak there, an oilskin just in case it rains. Which it will – for five bloody days._ The memory of being sodden wet and miserable comes back to her with a shiver and she tucks her blanket further under her chin. She thinks about the journey so far – a walk down the lane compared to what is to come, certainly.

_By Yavanna_ , she was looking forward to the beds at Rivendell! And the food! The kitchen – and the library – oh and the gardens were beautiful – and _the baths_.

Bilba had felt rather faint in a few points during their first few days of travel. They had breakfast of hot porridge – _Bilba would die for a dash of honey_. But as she was aware, Dwarves did not have second breakfast or Elvenses, and due to the distance they had to travel, Lunch was thrown (or passed) through the company, a mixture of fruit, bread, hard cheese and some tough biscuit.

As the days drew on afternoon tea was thought on longingly – warm fresh scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam. Dinner would have been a slowly roasted leg of lamb or cut of beef, golden potatoes, onions, fresh vegetables all cooking in the juices from the meat with cakes and pastries and ice cream for dessert. Supper would have been something lighter, grilled fish or a stir fry or even honey cakes, a poached egg or toast with different flavoured jams…

Bilba is unaware of the way her eyelids lower and she gently teases her lip with her teeth. Her eyes are glazed and she can almost taste the fluffy cakes and syrup covered pancakes—so lost in her reverie she is unaware of her surroundings and what she’s staring at, or rather, _who_.

*****

After another hard day’s ride Thorin Oakenshield has taken the first watch and much to his surprise, when he turns to find the cause of the prickling on the back of his neck, he catches the sloe eyed gaze of Bilba Baggins. He is curious and confused that she doesn’t turn away from his stare when he meets her eyes – he has been told he is intimidating though she appears completely unfazed.

"Do you want something Miss Baggins?"

Thorin will later think it strange that he is unable to look away as the Hobbit gives a slow sigh, almost a moan that sends a furious blush rushing to the Dwarven King’s bearded cheeks. Thorin turns his head away so fast, Gandalf who is watching from underneath the brim of his large grey hat, is surprised that the Dwarf King doesn't snap his own neck.

He really does try to put the sound of her soft sigh from his mind, but it keeps playing over and over in his head until he is forced to join Dwalin, and then Gloin on watch duty to greet the dawn.

Bilba, completely unaware of how she has flustered the dwarf leader stretches contentedly, shifts to a more comfortable position on the floor. Her glazed eyes close and she finally finds sleep, a soft smile on her delicate features as she dreams of sweet pastries and tender meats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Bagginshield there although Bilba's completely unaware of it!  
> In the next chapter we reach Bree and Bilba hears something strange...  
> _____________
> 
> I have a Tumblr if anyone's interested titled 'fatynthemachine' where I post fanart (more to come soon) and reblog the Hobbit, Harry Potter, Legend of Korra, art things, animations and other stuff :) Feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions or just to chat!


	5. Contemplation

 

While many people travelled through Bree, the sight of one of the Small Folk in the company of thirteen burly dwarves and a wizard was bound to set tongues wagging. Bilba rode at the front of the company with Gandalf, pleased that they were making good time and eager to have a hot bath and a soft bed for the night.

An eager young man took their ponies and Gandalf’s horse to be looked after for the night before the group headed to The Prancing Pony, the noise from the inn spilled out into the street.

The bar was full, hot and smoky, tables crowded and patrons enjoying large flagons of ale to quench their thirst on such a hot day. The chatter died as soon as they entered and, when Bilba was spotted, the Hobbits that lived alongside the men in Bree began to whisper quickly to their neighbours. Ignoring them all, Bilba swept up to the bar, hauling herself onto one of the high stools and ordered thirteen flagons of ale and one of cider for herself. Gandalf could order for himself when he reappeared.

“These are on me,” she told Balin when he made a move towards his money pouch.

“Most kind of you lass,” he smiled genially, accepting the cool drink from the barman, lifting his tankard to knock against the side of Bilba’s.

Bilba passed out the drinks to her dwarves when she paid, gently swinging her hairy feet underneath her stool and casually listening to the hubbub going on around her. The cool cider slid smoothly down her throat as she watched Gloin haggle with the barman over price of the rooms.

“Multi room discount—“ Bilba suggested, hiding her smile behind her tankard when they turned to look at her with surprise.

*****

Fortinbras and Meridas Took stared speechlessly at the letter, unable to imagine their prim and _proper_ cousin writing such a thing. They’d received their letter at half past eleven, having just finished their third meal of the day, and hurried outside to sit in the shade of an apple tree to read it.

“I didn’t know she was going on a bloody adventure, did you?” Fortinbras blinked owlishly, his blue eyes fixed firmly on the neat script as Meridas handed him an apple wordlessly. Despite having already eaten, such news needed food.

“Not a clue – but if she thinks we’d ever let that hag Lobelia get her hands on _this_ she must be mad!” Meridas shook his head, messy brown curls bouncing.

The Took clan was very close, and when Bilba had visited and they’d played together as children they’d formed a strong bond. Bilba was always up for looking for elves and adventuring, however as she grew, their cousin’s free spirit had been stifled under the stuffy pretentious Baggins’ ideals.

“Well I’m glad she’s finally followed her dreams,” Meridas beamed, folding his arms across his green coloured waistcoat. “She may even meet some elves!”

Who needs three different sized forks to eat one meal? Why should Bilba not be able to wear waistcoats and trousers if she wanted to? Was there something wrong with a walking holiday or curiosity about a race other than their own? According to the Baggins’ there was, but Bilba was part Took, and Tooks stuck together!

 “I don’t doubt it.” Fortinbras grinned looking at Bilba’s instructions. _Start trade with Dis, sister to Thorin Oakenshield in The Blue Mountains…_ that should be about two weeks on foot, though we’ll need ponies and a wagon if we’re going to show them samples of Hobbit produce…might even take a month if we take a wagon. “I just hope that she stays safe – I’m not too fond of this ‘beast’ she mentioned…”

“Bilba never was one to do something halfway, but she’ll be fine I’m sure. She was very good at getting us all out of trouble when we went scrumping.” Fortinbras hummed happily. “So, what’d you say, shall we give these Dwarves a taste of real food?”

Meridas’ mischievous grin spoke of danger, his eyes glinting eagerly. “Let’s do it – I can just imagine the look on Old Lady Baggins’ face when we come back with a group of dwarves!” he laughed.

Fortinbras shared a sly look with his cousin. “That’s if trade goes well…I’m sure Bilba wouldn’t mind if we set them up in Bag End for a bit.” Their grins grew, voices taking on a ‘proper’ tone as they spoke, “Everyone needs rest after a long journey.”

“Of course, we would be remiss in our duties as representatives of The Shire if we made them stay in an Inn!”

“Even with Drogo looking after it there’s several more bedrooms he won’t even use!”

“And it would shame us all if we didn’t show the dwarves what _true_ Hobbit hospitality is like.”

Tucking their letter safely into the secret inner pocket of Merridas’ waistcoat the cousins bent their heads together and began to plot with conspiring grins. Tooks looked out for one another and if this was what Bilba wanted them to do then they’d do it - now they had an adventure of their own to go on!

*****

Once they’d returned to their rooms and placed their packs inside the Company had split up, some napping, going back down to the bar or out into the town to look at the market. Thorin and Dwalin looked through the stalls, trailing slowly behind Balin and Bombur who were picking up further supplies for the journey. They had to stock up on more food, while they had a fair bit already, it would be several weeks before they reached Rivendell and that was no guarantee that their ponies wouldn’t bolt if they came across Orcs and wargs again.

The Hobbit had told them of the loss of their supplies when their ponies had deserted them the first time, Thorin instructing the Company to keep several more vital items and small packages of food on their person in case of emergencies.

“ **You’re starin’ Thorin** ,” Dwalin mumbled, glancing suspiciously at his king. They spoke quietly in Khuzdul to keep their conversation private.

“ **I’m just making sure she…doesn’t do anything to damage herself**.” Thorin lied smoothly, turning his gaze to the next stall instead of continuing to observe the Hobbit like he wanted to. “ **We cannot afford injury so early, especially with what is to come**.”

The previous night, when he’d been on watch and the Hobbit had acted so brazenly towards him, her actions had played on his mind all night, and now, all day. She had ridden with Gandalf at the front of the company when they set out, and he’d ridden at the back, with Dwalin as per usual. This was not only so they could protect the rear in case of an attack, but so he could discreetly observe the Hobbit who acted as though it was just another ordinary day. How could she be so cheerful and calm around him when she had moaned so wantonly while looking at him last night?

Thorin felt a flush creep up his neck at the memory.

“— **if yer thinkin’ about the lass like that I wouldn’ if I were you – the wizard’s even more protective of her than the Ri’s are of lil Ori**.”

Thorin fought to cool the heat creeping up his cheeks and scowled, “ **I am not thinking about the Hobbit like that—** “

“ **But you were las’ nigh’** ”

“ **I was not!** ”

Dwalin scoffed, “ **Thorin, yer face was lit up like a forge it was so red, and don’ think I didn’t hear you – _Is there something you want Miss Baggins_ ’ and from her reply it sounded like she did – you!**”

Thorin elbowed Dwalin hard in the side, his friend grunting in surprise. Usually if he or Dis had made a joke about Thorin staring too hard at a Dam back in The Blue Mountains it was only because he was so lost in thought that he’d laugh it off, scoff or ignore them. Dwalin gave Thorin a knowing grin.

He spoke slowly and low only loud enough for Dwalin to hear. “ **Her reaction was a surprise** ,” Thorin’s ears burned as he caught sight of the Hobbit puttering about the stalls, her golden curls hung neatly around her chin, glinting like spun gold in the light of the sun, an expression of delight on her face as she held something up in the air to examine it against the sky.“ **However, have come to the conclusion that _before_ we were lovers—** “

**“Given it quite a bit of thought have you?”** Dwalin smirked. **“And you think she’d take you as hers now, huh?”**

**“That is not what I meant and you know it.”** Thorin frowned, **“And you think she wouldn’t? There is nothing wrong with me I am—“**

**“Rude, hard headed, stubborn?”**

**“I am more than that! I have a lot to offer – I am a king!”**

**“Well then if she wants you only because of that you’d best not be pursin’ her—“** Dwalin told him.

  **“I am not _pursuing her_!” ** Something in Thorin rebelled at the idea of the Hobbit ( _Bilba_ , his mind whispered) only wanting him for the gold and titles he possessed seemed wrong.

Dwalin scoffed. **“Well then stop moonin’ over her like a bloody elf, Thorin. Your starin’ might give her an inklin’ on your unsavoury thoughts.”** Nimbly avoiding the punch Thorin sent his way, Dwalin laughed, picking up their pace a little to catch up with Balin and Bombur, his brother tossing him a sack of oats to carry.

Thorin and Dwalin were tall for dwarves and the King caught up to his friend quickly, hating the way he sounded so unsure. **“But what if we were—“**  

Dwalin had known Thorin since they were Dwarflings and _never_ had his shield brother taken such an interest in another like this. The fact that he was even _considering_ such a notion about the Halfling was telling. It could be serious.

The burly warrior let his expression shift to a more neutral one. He shrugged, trying to act nonchalantly and replied, **“Why don’t you ask her then?”**

This bore watching.

*****

Bilba had bought two long warm cloaks from a stall in Bree for a very reasonable price. They would be a boon in days to come, the extra one was bought just in case she lost the first or needed extra warmth. Their oiled outside meant the water would slide straight off rather than sinking through the material to drench her clothes, and the quilted inside would keep her nice and warm.

She’d puttered from stall to stall purchasing a length of rope, some thread, a few herbs and spices that could be used in their meals while they were travelling, and finally a whetstone for when she found some knives she liked.

She didn’t know much about weapons at all really, so needed some help. She’d almost asked Thorin for assistance – he was just a few stalls down – but he’d been acting odd this morning, watching her suspiciously and Bilba wondered what she’d done to upset him.

No, best ask someone else who wouldn’t grumble and be short with her all day. She’d made sure to smile at him and wish him good morning but received little more than a raised eyebrow and gruff ‘good morning’ in return. For some reason under his intense scrutiny Bilba fought the urge to blush. It wasn’t as though she’d done anything wrong, and if she had she had no way of knowing because the bloody dwarf was impossible to read!

“Nori, if you’d be so kind to join me please?” Bilba spoke aloud as she moved towards the door heading into the local Blacksmith’s.

The spy slunk out of the shadows cast in an alley across the market and made his way towards her with a deliberately neutral expression, his pointed hairstyle and elaborate braids made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the plain looking men of Bree.

“You called.” He said evenly. Nori didn’t trust her, she knew. He was always watching or hovering at the edge when she spoke to or rode by Ori. He did it when she spoke to Dori too, though it was less obvious.

Bilba nodded. “I’ve had a look through Bree and was hoping you could help me pick out some knives.”

Nori raised on braided eyebrow, “and do you know how to use them?”

She gave him one of her winning smiles and gently bumped his shoulder with her arm, “I was hoping you could teach me, you gave me a few quick tips last time.”

“I suppose a few lessons wouldn’t go amiss.” Nori replied quietly, “Though I still don’t trust you.” He told her simply. His keen eyes scanned the racks and shelves of displayed weapons as they entered the Blacksmith’s together.

It didn’t take long for Nori to find a set of throwing knives and two slightly larger daggers that were of better quality than the rest. Bilba watched in awe as Nori managed to reduce the cost by half before letting Bilba pay for the knives.

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that.” Bilba commented as they left the Blacksmith.

Bilba tucked her new acquisitions into the satchel she’d paid for earlier amongst her other items, listening to Nori as he spoke.

“He should know better than try to cheat a dwarf – we know the quality and cost of many items, and we won’t pay a penny more than what they’re worth. Dori could have pushed him down more though, you’re better asking her for lessons on Haggling.”

Nori looked as though he was going to slink back into the shadows so she slipped her arm through his with a teasing “oh no you don’t—” leading him back through the market in the direction of The Prancing Pony, “It’s time to get some lunch!”

From the shadows of a shop, Thorin Oakenshield watched with confusion, and more than a little annoyance as the Hobbit linked arms with Nori, son of Kori and left the market.

*****

Their overnight stay in Bree had been worth it, Bilba thought, and the hot bath had been sheer bliss, feeling wonderfully clean and rested as they mounted their ponies and continued onward.

Bilba had only stopped for a moment to adjust herself in the saddle and retie her pack to the back of her saddle when she heard her name called.

“Keep up, Mistress Baggins!”

It was Thorin. He had turned around in his seat, caught her gaze, nodded once and turned back around to the front.

_Honestly!_ She grumbled to herself  as she nudged Myrtle into a trot to catch up, _it took all of two minutes to retie my bag and as if I’d slow them down…he’s been watching me like a bloody hawk too. What have I done to break his trust this time?_

**He only needed one hand around her throat, lifting her up, fingers crushing her windpipe…**

**_“How dare you! Wretched Burglar, rotten thief…”_ **

Well, she hadn’t done anything yet, and wouldn’t if she could see another way around it. She would tell them about the Arkenstone later – and the gold madness, the orc army, and being trapped in Mirkwood’s cells…

“So rude.” she grumbled under her breath.

A chorus of muttered agreements rose up from the group.

Bilba tensed in her saddle and flicked her eyes around to the rest of the Dwarves who were riding calmly forward, their chatter almost obscuring what was being said.

“I couldn’t agree more, definitely much ruder than mine—“

“Surprised he didn’t crack the ground with the way he stormed up to the hill the other night—“

“Definitely using too much force there, I’m not made of stone!”

Bilba flicked her gaze back and forth over the Dwarves with an anxious frown looking for the speakers – strangely none of them seemed to be talking, and even the ones who were speaking were completely out of time…

“He’s heavy too – Minty’s been complaining about carrying him all night I had barely any rest at all…“

“It’s hardly my fault!” a voice cried indignantly up ahead.

Bilba jolted in her saddle as a voice spoke clearly beneath her.

“It is if you can’t keep your trap shut and let the rest of us sleep!”

Bilba’s eyes grew round as dinner plates. _Did my pony just…talk?_ Bilba almost laughed at herself at the ridiculous thought. _No, it can’t be._ _I’m just very tired._ She pressed her hands to her ears and scrubbed hard, screwing up her face as she did so before letting go.

Birdsong, the rustling of wind through the trees, dwarves talking and the repetitive thuds of the ponies hooves were all she could hear. There. Nothing to worry about!

“I’m not going mad.” She said to herself, relived.

“Well,” Bofur said slowing down to ride beside her at the back of the Company, “some folk say talking to yerself is a sign of madness,”

Bilba laughed, “A great comfort you are Bofur.”

The dwarf puffed up proudly and tipped his hat to her, “Aye, tis kind of you to say lass. I do me best y’know.”

_…I wish you all the luck in the world…_

“I do Bofur,” she smiled, pushing thoughts of _talking ponies_ (ha!) from her mind, her eyes misting over a little as she remembered, “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilba is completely oblivious to the thoughts going on in His Majesty's head, two adventurous Tooks are planning a trip to the Blue Mountains, Nori is suspicious and Bilba may or may not be hearing things.


	6. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because this chapter took on a life of its own and I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> Edit: For some reason the formatting on this chapter is really strange with random spaces appearing - anyone know how to solve this?
> 
> Edit: I went through and manually removed the spaces, seems like AO3 didn't like my use of italics!

Bilba sighed quietly and continued riding  beside Thorin at the front of the Company. He had wanted  to know what path they'd taken and how they fared in regards to making the best spots to camp and dangers that lay ahead.

"In about a hundred yards there's a cluster of trees that should keep us pretty dry, we went further last time to a different spot but it wasn't so secluded and everyone was pretty miserable in the morning having to squeeze more water out of their braids."

Thorin looked at her blankly, seeming puzzled why the further information was relevant. Had she not known Thorin Oakenshield as she did Bilba might have been intimidated by his level stare though she refused to be cowed, giving him a brief grin before looking ahead once more .

She'd often thought, in a few of her darker moods that she’d bitten of more than she could chew, not that journeying to the past and re- joining a suicidal mission to reclaim Erebor was entirely her choice.Not all of it at least. While everything was essentially the same,everything seemed so different and it was hard to reconcile the two.

The rocks seemed sharper, rain heavier and sky darker at night. She worried further over Azog the pale Orc and Smaug the dragon. If they managed to avoid Goblin Town would he still come after Thorin? Would Bilba accidentally provoke Smaug to burn more than just Lake town? Bilba often paid heavy attention to thoughts of the Arkenstone and Gold madness that the Company had fallen to in the Treasure Halls.

She hadn't told them about that yet.

They knew that they had encountered Trolls, Orcs,  Wargs, Stone Giants and Goblins on their journey. They knew that Thorin was attacked but not that it was  Azog that made him charge forward with battle cries and Khuzdul rumbling in his chest. She'd told them about the eagles and brief visit with Beorn; the spiders in the forest had made them all shudder and Gandalf helped her avoid the topic of the Mirkwood Elves and their unfortunate stay in the cells. They knew the dragon still lived, that lake town had burned and  Bilba  had  to pay for the rebuilding of Dale and Laketown .

"But you didn't need to - that gold belongs to you, it's written in your contract, a fourteenth share!" Nori protested looking horrified.

Bilba had rolled her eyes at the group, trying to ignore the mutterings about such a bad idea she would have had to pay for it all. 

"How do you think I'd have gotten it all home to the Shire? Where would I have put it all \- it  would have filled the shire four times over and we would have been inundated with big folk and raiders messing up our gardens and stomping on my tomatoes!"  she told them all with a huff. "I'd never be able to spend it all anyway, it'd just sit there - absolutely useless."

"So you don't value Gold then?"  Dwalin asked in his usual gruff voice though she could tell he was surprised.   


Bilba shook her head. "It's not that, but  Gold doesn't make you happy - people do. I'd much rather use what I have to help others than watch my wealth grow and be alone. It'd be awful to have everything but no one to share it with."

_ Her smial was so empty, quiet and dusty... _

She didn't tell them about the exchange that took place before  the men of Lake Town had been paid though. Her gold for the Arkenstone, and then, her banishment.

Bilba hadn't worked up the courage to tell them of her theft, or why she'd done it. She'd not told them of the battle, though she would, only said that Dain had come and helped to reinforce and restore Erebor, enjoying the brief look of relief that flickered across Thorin's face before it was gone again.

_He lay there still and pale..._ __

How could she tell her friends that she'd seen them die? Too slow in fighting her way through their enemies, too small, to afraid...

*****

Bilba trained in the evenings when they stopped to make camp, drifting to the side with Nori so she wouldn't accidentally stab or throw her knives at one of them.  Nori had praised her effort s so far. He had her practicing slipping them in and out of their sheaths and practicing her aim against fallen logs or signposts.  Nori  even went so far as to  use the lid of a rough wooden shield as a target and ask Bilba to strike it while he moved about. This, she wasn’t so good at, though  she was steadily improving.

It was difficult to keep up her bright smile when the rain came. She may have enjoyed it for the first ten minutes, tipping her face back so she could feel the cool drops hitting her face, a welcome contrast after the dry days they’d had so far. Though, five days of heavy, non-stop rain was taking things a bit far, her mood lowering to match that of the company as Dori asked Gandalf, yet again, whether the wizard could do something about ‘ _this deluge_ ’.

The wizard must have heard her mutterings and twisted around in his saddle to smile at her.  “I think you’ll find my dear,” Gandalf said when he noticed her disgruntled expression, “that over time our memories make light of many things.”  Bilba tilted her head up and looked at him so miserably that he couldn’t help but chuckle, “just be glad that you have a cloak this time.”

“Oh believe me, Gandalf. I am!”

*****

Had Bilba been in their place she would have wanted to know about the future too. The company asked questions constantly and about the oddest of things "Did you sneeze when you went into the mountain - I mean was it dusty? Did it get up your nose ?" and "Did you have to pretend to be a princess to make Smaug  keep you alive?" or "Did he try to make you a servant and scrub between his toes?". 

Fili, Kili and Ori often asked for descriptions of Erebor, the others listening in and wanting to know from the view of an outsider. She told them happily, lightly brushing over the dust, darkness and disrepair of the place, focusing on little details in the carvings and the impressive structure of the  halls, passageways and pillars that she’d passed during the brief time she’d been there.

The mood was subdued when they remembered Smaug was alive though this would always lead to discussions on the Black Arrows given to Girion of Dale and the trade they’d once had between the two cities before the dragon.

Bilba made sure when they asked of the future she responded carefully, Gandalf having to cover for her once or twice w hen she stumbled over her words.

_ “What’s my beard like in the future?” Kili asked. _

_ Bilba replied instantly, with little thought to what was coming out of her mouth. "Oh about the same—” _

_ “What? Why?!” Kili demanded. _

_ Bilba’s mind had suddenly gone blank. She couldn’t think. _

_ Because you died, she thought.  _

_ “Because young Kili,” Gandalf interrupted, “Miss Baggins returned home quite soon after  Erebor  was reclaimed, she had rushed out the door without a word and I’m afraid many of her friends and relatives thought her dead—” _

_ Bilba huffed at the memory, her good mood dropping as Gandalf distracted kili. Silly, stupid Hobbit! “And of course it's all Gandalf's fault though he won't admit it--" _

_ “That is not true - however that is why Bilba knows little of your beard.” _ _Gandalf continued, a genial expression on his face as he spoke to Kili. _

_ And it’s not because you died.  _

_ Not at all … _

There was so much to think about and often Bilba slept uneasily, shifting from one place to another with stones in her back, or rising in the morning with a headache that never seemed to fade. She felt Gandalf watching her often, slipping out of sight before reappearing hours later only to continue observing her. Even if she asked him what was so fascinating he would answer in his usual vague way with mutterings about the direction of the sun being the opposite to something-or-other, humming and sweeping away to fulfil some mysterious Wizard Business.

It was irritating, confusing and completely baffling, especially when he looked at her knowingly,  though what he knew she hadn't a bloody clue!

*****

Talking ponies. Talking  _bloody _ ponies! 

Grumpy, happy, playful ponies, each with their own personalities and relationships, speaking to each other with intelligent conversations, and teasing each other too like one big family...

"Look at them all snug in their coverings while they leave us to get soaked through!" One said grumpily, the pony's hair sticking flat to its back and sides, the fluffy fringe pressing wetly against its forehead and poking it in the eyes.

Nori's pony, riding just in front of the grumpy one -  Gloin's  - clicked a teasing reply,  "Well if your coats not thick enough..."

"How  _dare_  you!" 

Obviously that was some sort of insult.

"I'll have you know my coat is the thickest and shiniest coat in our herd!"

Bilba wondered whether they meant just the ponies, or the rest of them too, Gandalf  included.

Gloin's temperamental mount turned and nipped the flank of Nori's own making it dance sideways knocking into Bofur who yelped and cursed as he was jolted to the left almost sending him to the floor. Bombur's pony shot forward to get out of the way.

"Watch where you're going, honestly!"  the grey pony berated them, tossing her head against Bombur's grip on her reins.

How is this even possible? Bilba asked herself listening and watching the ponies interactions together as she bit her lip nervously. She shouldn't be able to hear this, was there something wrong with her? 

"Quite amusing aren't they my dear?" 

Bilba almost jumped out of her skin. "Oh, Gandalf! I didn't hear you approach."

"It's alright my dear, I didn't intend to startle you though I feel I would have done it either way - you were quite immersed in their conversation."

Bilba frowned. "Their conversation...Gandalf, can you hear the ponies too?"

The wizard smiled far too cheerfully in such dour weather and replied.  "Of course, though I am quite intrigued as to how you can do so. I wasn't aware you possessed such talents."

"Oh. Right. Well. Neither did I." she told him faintly. 

Gandalf let her ride quietly for a while, his horse walking placidly alongside her small pony, looking fondly at the chattering animals.

"I hear whispers sometimes." Gandalf twisted his head to look at Bilba intently, not bothering to cover his interest. "When I'm asleep, things I've never heard before - or simply feelings I get when we make camp or pick something up"

Gandalf leant down toward her  "What type of feelings?" he muttered lowly, eyes sparking with interest.

It felt good to talk to someone about this, Gandalf being the most likely to understand what was happening to her, though her admission of these events made them more real to her. "When we make camp - it's like there's a presence, not bad, just there, though it feels normal like it's always been there I've just never noticed." Gandalf hummed thoughtfully, urging her to go on. "When I walk to collect firewood or water for dinner I get a tingling sensation in my feet - the same with my hands if I touch the trees or grass. Why is this happening to me?"

"I don't know yet my dear," Gandalf placed a warm hand on her shoulder, "but I intend to find out."

"I don't think it's anything bad Gandalf," Bilba told him, "but it worries me all the same."

"It will be alright, we have not long to go until Rivendell and soon we shall be reaching those Trolls you told us about."

Of course. "Hopefully if we find them again it will involve less snot and a lot more sleep."

Gandalf's laugh rang loudly through the Company.

When the rain finally stopped there were audible sighs of relief. The first rays of warm sun pushed through the dispersing clouds to shine brightly, warming the air and making mist and steam form in the damp air.

Bilba let the soaked hood of her cloak fall back from her face with a sigh, the suns rays warming her face. Eyes still closed she reached up to remove the tie that held her short golden curls in a bobtail at the back of her head, easing the pressure on her scalp as they bounced forward to frame her face.

While most of the company were also enjoying the first warm rays, there were two pairs of eyes that were locked on something altogether more interesting.

Gandalf, watching discreetly from under the brim of his hat, his lips tipping up in a smile at the expression of confusion and quiet awe twisting Thorin Oakenshield's face. Perhaps we will have more to celebrate at the end of the journey than simply a coronation, the wizard thought cheerfully, beginning to whistle as he nudged his horse to move faster and reach the front.

Nori on the other hand hung at the back of the Company, eyes flicking from the blissful looking Hobbit to the land around them. He was very good at his job, being a spy, theif, sometimes a conman. His senses were sharp and honed to pick up the little things no one else seemed to notice. 

No one else was looking back like he was.

Almost as if they were one, the Hobbit sighed happily and stretched her arms upwards toward the sky, all through the grass, small white flowers grew and bloomed, tilting their stems and heads toward the blissfully unaware Hobbit.

This was very interesting indeed.

*****

“Well I bet I’m even more good looking in the future,”  Kili declared. “I bet my beard is longer than yours Fili!”

“I doubt that little brother, mine will probably have reached my knees by the time you manage to cover your chin!”

Kili’s beard (or lack thereof) had often been a subject that was gone over and over on both her trips so she expected much more good natured teasing to come.

“Miss Boggins —“

“Yes Kili ?” she sighed, lips twitching as she looked at the brothers fondly. 

“Who is more handsome – me or Fili ?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say,”  Bilba replied demurely. She'd been having a lovely conversation with Dori about her teashop in the Blue Mountains and the different blends she'd be able to make when she opened up another in the mountain.  “Be assured you’re both quite handsome. Had you stayed longer in the Shire I’m sure you would have both been inundated with flowers and favours.”  Bilba felt her amusement grow when they both preened at her comment, Kili tipping his head back a little with a smug look while Fili sat a little straighter on his pony.

“What are favours?” Ori asked, looking up from her journal. She'd been making notes in pencil to write up later in the journal. Cataloguing the journey had been difficult for the young scribe having to protect her writings from the jaws of  Wargs, flames and rushing rapids making her very protective of the book and reluctant to let it out of her sight. She'd also expressed an interest in writing a book about Hobbits, there being so little literature about them to read anywhere. With this in mind Bilba smiled and explained.

“Favours are pre-courting gifts – they’re used to show how you favour another and hold affection for them. If you like  that person back you’ll accept their favour and give them one of your own before you start courting."  


“Is it that simple?" Fili asked shocked, "How do you court a Hobbit then?” Fili asked.

Bilba looked at Fili, hand over her chest. "Why Fili, I'm terribly flattered--"

Fili's cheeks darkened as he shook his head, beads clicking, "Oh no I didn't mean it like--" Then seeing Bilba and the other's laugh his look of panic turned into a frown. "Oh shut up, s'not funny."

Bilba chuckled and blinked away her tears, still letting out a breathy laugh every now and then, explaining to make up for her teasing toward the young prince. 

“Well, usually once favours have been exchanged we give gifts and treat each other. Baked goods are great for showing that you have skills and can help in preparation of meals. Cooking each other things and sharing meals is one of the most important courting rituals though courting couples may go for walks to talk and such" ' _such'_ meaning kisses and tumbles in the hay _..._ _do not blush Bilba... _

"Giving each other flowers is important and is a way to express your feelings without actually saying anything. As each flower holds a meaning and every hobbit worth their salt knows what each means it's like passing notes though prettier. I remember my cousin Drogo, he was so nervous after Primula accepted his favour that he picked almost every flower relevant to his feelings from his mothers garden and my own! I couldn't be angry with him though, the poor boy's absolutely besotted with her and she with him." 

Bilba thought back, suddenly remembering she'd missed their wedding last time having stayed a while in Rivendell on the return journey. Perhaps she could make it back this time? "Hobbits are simple people we love good food, good company and growing things.” 

“You seem to know a lot about this courting business Miss Baggins. Are you thinking about giving any favours yourself?" Fili leant toward Bilba with a charming grin, blinking owlishly when Bilba fluttered her eyelashes teasingly in his direction. 

“Well actually, now that you mention it I—“

“We’ll stop here for the night.” Thorin ordered sharply from the front, stopping his pony. “Dismount and set up camp.”

Seeing the heavy scowl set on their leaders features the company quietened and moved onto other subjects, courting not being one of them.

For the next fifteen minutes, their small camp was abuzz with activity while the others cleared unpacked supplies and bedrolls and looked after the ponies Bilba  was tasked with helping to cook dinner. She found several large Parasol mushrooms while accompanying Fili and Kili gathering firewood and water from a nearby stream.  


“But why not this one?” Kili whined, “it’s much prettier!” he cast a distrustful look at Bilba’s dull finds.

Bilba fought not to roll her eyes, gently taking the red spotted mushroom from Kili’s hand before tossing it into a nearby bush.

“Hey! What’d you do that for?”

“Because Kili,” she said slowly, “that one will make you hallucinate—“ she did not like that look “-and kill you.” She finished, relieved when his gaze turned from the bush in which she’d thrown the offending fungus. “This is called a Parasol mushroom, it’s perfectly safe and delicious when cooked in a stew or fried with butter and herbs.” Her stomach rumbled eagerly as she looked at the dappled skin.

“What was the other one called again?” Kili  asked innocently.

Bilba knew that tone.“ I'm not telling you” she hummed, “and you will not be picking any up to give to the company – or the elves when we reach Rivendell.” If  Bilba was a weaker Hobbit, and not so determined that the dwarves and elves get along at Rivendell, she would have trusted Kili to follow her back to camp. “Go on, you first – carry the satchel if you like but you are not going to be picking any more unless you want me to tell your uncle.”  Kili huffed and accepted their pickings, ready to wash and hand over to  Bombur for dinner as they came back to camp.

The rain was beginning to let up (finally) and would stop early afternoon tomorrow. It was on damp, rainy days like these that a hot meal was even more appreciated.

“Are there mushrooms that would just make you hallucinate and not kill you?” Kili asked as he helped Bilba chop them roughly and add them to the pot.

“Yes.” The stew was starting to smell really good. She couldn’t wait to eat it.

“Really?” Kili asked excitedly. “Have you ever had any?”

Bilba didn’t break the rhythm of her cutting as she shrugged.  “Perhaps.”

“That’s a yes then!”  Fili grinned cheekily from the other side of the camp where he was stacking the wood for the night, she’d been unaware others were even listening. 

“What did you hallucinate about Miss Boggins?” Kili asked eagerly. “Where can we find them – not to give the elves of course, I said I wouldn’t —“ 

Bilba saw Kili and Fili’s shared grins, pretending not to see. The boys weren’t as stealthy as they liked to believe.

It had been quite the adventure, and the Hobbits who remembered still a good laugh about it from time to time. A small smile tipped the corner of  Bilba’s lips as she began the tale, though she continued chopping. “Well, when I was a Faunt, my cousins and I used to go scrumping in Farmer Maggot’s fields. It was highly frowned upon, especially for the daughter of a respectable Hobbit such as my father but lots of Faunts did it and it was quite fun…” 

Bilba continued with the story telling the company how she and her cousins had snacked on some of their spoils along the way, each of them terribly surprised when the surroundings started to swirl and melt together. 

The Company laughed in all the right places and  Fili and Kili had moved to sit together to speak about the ‘mushrooms’.  Bilba could hear every word of their conversation – their plan was to ask what the fungus looked like, and where to find it so they could have a special stash for ‘emergencies’. 

Goodness they were just like another pair of troublemakers she knew...

While dinner was well on its way to being finished, Bombur guarding the cooking pot against the Dwarves who sought to quickly scoop out their share before it was ready. He quickly smacked Bofur’s knuckles with his iron ladle, the toymaker springing back with a yelp when he reached for his bowl.

Fili and Kili had moved onto discussing hand-to-hand combat while Gloin and Oin grumbled about the costs of herbs and the markets back in the Blue Mountains. Ori was, as usual, being mothered by Dori, and Nori hung off to the side, flipped his throwing knives up in the air before catching them neatly. Bifur  was grumbling to himself in  Khuzdul examining a moth he’d caught as the fire drew it in, and Balin had shut his eyes, already having set up his bed roll to have  a quick nap before dinner.  Bombur was stirring their dinner while the Hobbit added roughly chopped mushrooms to the meal.

Like many dwarves, Thorin was sceptical of anything that wasn’t meat – especially veg e tables, and fungus. A part of him wanted to protest at the Hobbit’s addition to the pot but he managed to stop himself.  He convinced himself that it was out of self preservation –  Tharkun always seemed to know what he was thinking, and stared at him as if to say ‘ don’t you dare ’ \- and not from the idea that he might hurt the Hobbit's feelings...

Thorin quickly looked away from the wizard’s unnerving stare and looked out into the trees with a scowl.

“Here you go.”

Thorin turned to find the Hobbit stood in front of him with a smile, offering him a bowl of stew.

He looked at her warily, “Thank you,” he said, taking the bowl reluctantly, frowning at the little pieces of mushroom that floated at the top. 

Thorin wondered whether he could get away with flicking them out of the bowl with his spoon when he felt the log he was sitting on move as another joined him. It was the Hobbit.

_Hadn't she said sharing meals was what courting couples did?_  By Mahal, she was bold.

“They’re not poisonous.” She said teasingly, “I made sure  Kili  didn’t bring any of those back to camp.” Thorin still made no move to eat it and her smile fell a little. “They really are quite good – just try a little and then if you don’t like it then I’ll let you add them to my bowl.”

“You’ll  _let _ me.” Thorin repeated slowly .

Bilba raised an eyebrow in a challenge. “I’m not going to let you waste good mushrooms.” 

He huffed lowering his spoon back into the bowl. “Do you have to look at me like that?”

The Hobbit's eyes narrowed challengingly. "I’m going to watch you till you’ve at least tried them.”

Thorin scowled at her but she remained unmoved. Annoyed  he  scooped up spoonful of stew and mushrooms and  s t uffed it in his mouth . 

He tried to hide the surprise on his face when the flavour burst across his tongue. He tried to act good manners but he was hungry from the long ride today so  he had an other spoonful, and another, avoiding looking at the Hobbit until he realised the bowl was empty and she was smirking at him.

“Good?”

“They were…acceptable.” He replied.

Bilba ate her stew with a smug smile letting out little hums and quiet sighs of appreciation.

_ No_ _,_ Thorin decided,  _she was not bold. She was brazen. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in shock, seriously, I never really expected this to be quite this fic to be quite so popular. Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, bookmarked and left Kudos!!!
> 
> ITrolls, a hoarde and some tree shaggin' elves next chapter I promise.
> 
> Not actually shagging trees though. yes. I mean no.


	7. Capture

To keep their spirits up the Company took turns in telling tales or singing, their deep voices often helped send Bilba to sleep at night when they hummed or sang quietly around the fire. Their voices seemed to go straight through the earth itself, resonating deep and rich in the ground –  sending strange little bolts of electricity down her spine and across her palms.

It was strange, she thought, feeling so safe with her dwarves despite the dangers lurking around them. They'd heard Warg calls tonight and the boys had made jokes about Orcs in an attempt to scare her.

"I know what Orcs do, boys." she said slowly, "I know it far more than I'd like to."

Thorin had scolded them of course and spent the rest of the evening brooding, sitting up for first watch with Bifur until Bifur had retired for the night and Thorin took on second watch.

They’d made camp in a sheltered area with rocks at their back with trees bracketing them, easily defendable and safe from prying eyes. The fire crackled warmly at the centre and most of the company had already lay down for the night though their chatter was stopping Bilba from sleeping.

Ten minutes, an hour, two hours went by and Bilba still couldn’t sleep. _Why were they still talking?_

_ “And I said to her, I’m obviously the best looking and better at building than he is—“ _

She knew that dwarves were strange but calling their  hair  ‘plumage’ and referring to making a home a ‘nest’ was  very  odd and she certainly didn’t need to hear it at this time of night! Annoyed and very tired after their long day’s ride  Bilba  threw off her cloak and sat up in her bed roll.

“If you would all just **SHUT UP** and let me get some sleep I’d be very grateful!” she yelled  sitting bolt upright in her blankets. 

The talking stopped. The snoring continued.

Bilba frowned at the Company. Her Dwarves were all lying down, their only movements were the gentle rise and fall of their chests as they slept.

“Is there something bothering you Miss Baggins?”

Bilba jumped, turning to find Thorin sitting by the fire staring at her with a frown. Frowning seemed to be his natural expression, he would look much better if he smiled more. She remembered how he’d looked at her on the  Carrock —

“No, nothing, I’m fine.” She told him. His smile then had changed his whole face, it made him much more approachable, even as bloody and bruised as he had been.

“I’m going to go to sleep now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” he returned gruffly.

Why was she thinking about Thorin Oakenshield’s smile?

An hour later Bilba found sleep still eluded her. So, with a sigh, she padded over to Thorin, blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders and plonked herself down beside him.

Thorin watched her cautiously from the corner of his eye. “Is something wrong?”

“Why should there be anything wrong?” 

"You do not usually seek me out," he reminded her, dark brow raised questioningly.

Bilba shrugged, "I couldn’t' sleep." she admitted, "so I might as well do something useful like keep watch rather than lie about like a slug."

"You are tired though," he observed a moment later. "Worried about what is ahead? Does the dragon play on your mind?"

_ Amongst other things_, she thought. "Of course, though it is not the only thing." Bilba gave him a small smile, looking out into the dark of the night.

"We are all capable warriors, you will not come to harm easily." Thorin frowned affronted .

Bilba looked back at him with dawning understanding and patted his arm consolingly. "I'm sure you can protect the company very well - I assure you I feel very safe with you on watch."

Thorin tried not to let it show as he felt a small ember of pride settle inside him.

Perhaps...maybe...and then, he had an inkling to why she had chosen to sit with him. 

At night \- while the others were asleep. 

Now must be the time.

"You have something to tell me then?" he said, waiting.

The Hobbit tipped her head back, white teeth peeking between her pink lips and eyes dancing. "Can I not sit beside you simply because I want to? Or did I miss that in my contract, ‘ _The burglar must not bother His Majesty during specified brooding times…’ _ ”   


Thorin's expression immediately reverted to a frown. “I do not brood.”

Bilba laughed. “Yes you do! I’ve often seen you stare dramatically off into the distance, making sure you position yourself just  _so_ … you make the most of the light to cast a good shadow - strike a dramatic pose - let the breeze to flick your hair over your shoulders —“  she teased, flicking her hair over her own shoulder, pouting and giggling...

"You have been watching me then?" he smirked, fascinated by the way her eyes went wide - mouth open before she closed it with a snap, blushing brightly.

"Just keeping track of my Dwarves," she sniffed.

" _Your Dwarves_?"

Had any of the company been awake their mouths would have been held open in shock. Thorin's voice had deepened, rumbling - almost a purr - as he spoke to the Hobbit, brow raised and the smallest of smirks lifting the corner of his lips as he flirted! The Hobbit's blush deepened as she rolled her eyes.

"Oh hush you-"

He did look quite lovely without that frown of his...

“Miss Baggins I —“  He was about to say something...something. What was it? Gone. His mind had gone blank, thoughts fleeing when he looked at the Hobbit beside him.

Beautiful. 

Two unruly golden curls had fallen from the tight bobtail she wore when travelling to dangle by her cheek. Her green eyes seemed to shine in the dim light and the fire gave her skin a warm glow. He could barely think straight through all the thoughts buzzing about in his head. She was sitting so close to him, smelling sweet and looking quite lovely...   


If she wasn't going to broach the subject, maybe he could. “In this other time….”  Thorin searched for words that would not seem presumptuous or improper. He could not say Azyungal (lover), he could not ask if he was her Kurdel (Heart of hearts ), or if he had ever called her Mizimel (Jewel of jewels). “Were we… _friends_?” he said eventually , feeling the words were inadequate but not knowing how to make himself clearer without being too forward.

The question had bothered him for days, drawing up different scenarios of how to ask her and what their relationship had been like in the other time. He hadn't mentioned it before simply because she was so free with her affections-with Bofur and his nephews especially.

She had joked with him, shared meals with him and even rode beside him at times during the journey so far. She had explained Hobbit courting recently, perhaps she wanted to be subtle about it? Show her interest first so he could then reveal his own? 

Bilba looked surprised, then amused. “Friends?”

Thorin nodded, his throat tight and mouth dry as he waited. Perhaps she had been expecting the question? Just waiting for him to ask so she could present him with a favour—

“Oh no, not at all."  she seemed far too amused at this prospect and Thorin felt a chill pass over his skin, the ember turning cold in his stomach as she laughed.

“The first time, I am sure you disliked me fiercely. You made quite sure that I knew it too.” 

All he seemed able to ask was, “Why?” Why was this amusing to her? Perhaps knowing what he had done in the previous time would make her less liable to let him court her? 

He hoped not. 

Not that he was going to court her.

Certainly not.

They had not courted previously, though if she had done all the things she said it would have warmed any Dwarrows heart. Despite gruff speech and appearances, many Dwarrows were romantics, Gloin being a prime example. Bilba defending him against Orcs could almost be considered a proposal!

Perhaps it was because he was a king, had a kingdom to reclaim and people to look after? He would not have time (either then or now) to contemplate such a match. And he was not going to court a Hobbit – especially not one who had eyes like emeralds, hair like gold...

“ ...Because I was a soft creature,” she smiled fondly, her voice deepened and gained an accent that was strangely familiar – he realised she was trying to imitate Dwalin "Aye, the wild’s no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” She gave another soft laugh. “I must admit I found travel difficult. I had never travelled as a far as Bree and I had certainly never ridden a pony before. I had packed what few travel things I owned but had been in such a rush I chased after you all in a dress! It certainly made things much harder until I managed to find a change of clothes in Bree. My actions in the beginning did not endear me to you at all, no matter how hard I tried to impress you.”

_ She had tried to impress him? Had she been interested in him and he had scared her off? _

“Did I offend you?”

She laughed again, eyes bright with amusement. 

_ Why did his chest ache so?  Perhaps he should see Oin in the morning. _

“Oh you offended me many times, though I’m sure I must have done the same to you.”

Thorin cleared his throat. “Gandalf says you did not stay, the first time.”

Her smile dimmed slightly. “I had to get home. After everything…after everything that had happened I had been away for a long time and I was very tired. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

_ How could she think that? She had been a  hero of  Erebor , she would not have been 'in the way'! _

“But he said your family thought you dead, surely a letter would have been enough?" she looked even sadder and Thorin turned his head so he was looking down at her, voice earnest. "You know that if we succeed you will always have a place in Erebor should you wish it.”

_ Bilba looked up and noticed her eyes were a lovely shade of green. Like emeralds, or topaz with shards of jade... _ "It's very kind of you, I'll think about it."She leaned into his side, her smile brighter but sad somehow.

_ Presumptuous of you, thinking _ _she would want to stay,_  his mind whispered.

“Tell me,” he said suddenly, remembering how she had smiled as she told the Company tales of the Shire, “What happened when you returned to your home? I assume your family were happy to see you were unharmed?”

She chuckled, and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. She was still leaning against him, her weight warm and comforting. 

“Oh, some of them were happy – my cousin  Drogo  and his wife  Primula , they had married by that time and had a little one on the way - my nephew Frodo. My uncles and many of my Took relatives were all very pleased. They threw quite the party for my return." She told him fondly. 

"My Baggins relatives were somewhat more reserved in their enthusiasm to see that I was home. You must understand that The Shire is quite insular, my departure and sudden return were often talked about avidly. " Her voice took on a tone of wry amusement. " I had been quite improper you see, rushing off to join a group of dwarves on an  _adventure_.” 

Bilba tipped her head back and stuck her nose in the air.“ _It is most improper conduct by a young lady fitting your station_ _, your mother being a Took gives you no excuse - you are a Baggins of Bag End and you should not have given into your Wanderlust so_! ” she huffed. Bilba shifted in her seat to settle properly on the uncomfortable rock, their arms still resting against one another. “So, by the time I returned to The Shire my reputation was all but destroyed. My home had been taken over by my rather unpleasant cousin and his wife who had managed to weasel their way in, and I spent the next few months buying back everything they’d already sold in their ‘auction’” Bilba scoffed. “It’s quite a wonder I think back on that time fondly at all,” she grinned.

Everything she did seemed to confuse him. She truly was a vexing creature. “If I was truly so terrible to you why are you helping me, us – again?”

Bilba sighed and looked out over the land stretching into the distance, “Because along the way I  _finally _ managed to get through to you.”

Perhaps there had been something there after all \- even if they had never acknowledged their regard for one another .

“It was when I saved your life—” They had been almost halfway to the mountain by then! “You had been knocked to the ground after being mauled by a Warg and must have bashed your head on a rock. You lost your grip on Orcrist when it threw you and you wouldn’t have reached it in time to defend yourself from the Orc that was coming.” Bilba caught his astonished look and smiled nudging him playfully with her arm.

“Oh I was just as surprised as you, shaking like a leaf afterwards of course. I just…saw red. I don’t think I’d ever been so angry in my life. We’d faced trolls, orcs, stone giants and goblins and the thought of it ending was just impossible so I…well I killed it, knocked it to the floor and stabbed it, perhaps a few more times than necessary but…” Bilba shrugged carelessly and the charming smile was back on her face. She was full of surprises. 

Had he truly been so blind to how brave the Hobbit had been - standing between him and an Orc while their companions hung precariously in a tree that could topple at any moment?  Thorin  could tell when someone was lying and her words rang true. She had risked her life to save his. ..

"Ah, that's enough now, no more brooding tonight."

Thorin  decided then that he would do his best to show the Hobbit that she had made the right decision to help them a second time. It made him frown to think he hadn't seen how useful she had and would be.

_ How pretty she is_, his mind whispered.

“Miss Baggins—“

“Bilba–“ she smiled and placed her hand on his knee, “We are to be travelling companions for a while longer, you may as well call me by my first name.” Thorin  wondered if she had been quite as  _forward _ with him in her past life too \- even if they had been just friends.

“Bilba then,” Thorin corrected himself gruffly, looking out into the night when she smiled fondly at him. “Should you wish it, you may share this watch with me and tell me more about your home.”

Her eyes came up to meet his, a soft look on her face, “I’d like that very much,” she said quietly.

With her hand still resting innocently on his knee, her touch burning through his armour, he felt it was perhaps the most tolerable watch he had ever shared. 

Later, when Nori came to relieve Thorin of his watch his look of surprise quickly turned into a smirk. The Hobbit - Bilba, was sound asleep against Thorin's shoulder.   


" _Not a word_."  Thorin said through gritted teeth when Nori smirked. The thief held his hands up peaceably, trying to hide his smirk as Thorin gently slid his arms behind Bilba's knees and back, lifting her effortlessly.

"Want a hand--ok, I thought not-- _carefully_ now, you'll wake her!"  Nori hummed, dancing out of the way of Thorin's kick.

Nori's skills of observation were useful when on Watch duty and they'd been put to good use on his new mission of 'Hobbit watching'. 

He had been inspecting the Hobbit's influence on the plants around her carefully, watching the way the grass wriggled and grew when she walked across it, flowers leaning toward her, blooming and opening when she sat down beside them.  Nori  watched the subtle growth and thickening of the grass around and under her bedroll as Thorin lay her down. Bilba shifted as he drew her blankets over her sleeping form properly, grumbling quietly to herself in sleep as he pulled away.

"Eyes on the surroundings, Thief." Thorin warned as he stomped over to his own bedroll.

"Of course, your highness..."

Nori couldn't watch the Hobbit all the time of course, so when he did turn away to settle the final watch of the night he completely missed something truly  extraordinary. 

The tree, which Bilba was sleeping beneath, silently shifted its branches to create a green leafy canopy above the sleeping Hobbit, the grass grew and thickened beneath her to create a soft bed and the thick roots grew around her sleeping mat, creating comfortable nest.

When she woke in the morning, blinking blearily and rubbing sleep from her eyes it was a happy, well rested Hobbit that ate breakfast with the company, completely oblivious to the movements of the tree behind her as it pulled in its roots and slowly shifted its branches back to normal.  

*****

When they eventually came across the charred farmhouse they kept riding, the ponies whinnied and snorted nervously when they sensed the hours old stench of the trolls. Luckily they were downwind and were able to move quickly without being scented by the trolls in their cave.

Bilba leant down to pat Myrtle soothingly on the side of her neck, “it’s alright, shh now, I promise we won’t let them hurt you…”

The pony tossed her head back, briefly meeting Bilba’s eyes. “ _Really?_ _  Are you sure about that?” _

Bilba’s hands tightened their grip on the reins and her breath caught in her throat. Being able to hear and speak to the ponies was still so new that it sent shivers down her spine every time she did it.

“Of course.” Her voice trembled. “We’d never let anything hurt you. Though if you and the others want to be safe you’d best stay together and stay with us.” She breathed in deeply through her mouth, trying to push past the wave of dizziness that assaulted her senses. 

Myrtle had snorted her agreement and Bilba sat back in the saddle, pale and a little shaky. When the others had noticed she’d told them she was fine, a little tired perhaps, and sat quietly as they pressed on.  Most attributing her pale look to being so close to the Trolls campsite.

They planned to make camp a short distance from the Troll's Cave in the night so Bilba, Nori and Kili (being the lightest on foot) could sneak into the Hoard and collect Sting, Glamdring and Orcrist before heading to Rivendell.

Myrtle  having been convinced that no harm would come to her was now politely talking about the weather with Gandalf’s horse, expecting the weather to stay fine and dry for a while yet. The horse replied that it was looking forward to the stables they’d rest in when they reached Rivendell and Bilba let out a small noise of distress.

“Have no fear my dear, you won't turn into a pony yourself. Though who knows what magic is at work here?”

“This is not a time for joking Gandalf!”  she hissed at him. “This is serious!  The voices have been getting stronger and it's not just the ponies this time--I think a squirrel bid me 'Good Morning! ” 

Gandalf looked delighted. “Oh I’m not laughing my dear, though it is an interesting development - and very useful for you I must say.”

Gandalf was smiling at her and it only saw to make Bilba angry. “Well, don’t just sit there and bloody smile at me wizard, help me understand why this is happening!”

“I have been developing a theory,” he said slowly, “though I cannot be sure whether I am correct or not, your situation being so unique.”

“Well a theory’s better than what I’ve got right now—“

Fili and Kili rode up between them so Bilba was bracketed in the middle and Gandalf at the edge. 

“You’re looking quite suspicious talking to each other so quietly.” Fili said, narrowing his eyes at Gandalf and then Bilba.

“Yeah…” Kili agreed, “Mightily suspicious…” he whispered seriously, then a second later his face was filled with childish excitement “What’s the secret?”

“Oh,” Gandalf perked up, looking far too cheery for her liking—

Oh no, don't you dare!

“Bilba has just discovered she can understand and speak to your ponies!" Gandalf told them cheerily. "And perhaps even other animals as well!"

Kili and Fili’s gasps of astonishment made the rest of the company want to know what was going on. 

And now, Bilba was the translator for the ponies and Dwarves as the ponies asked to be brushed a certain way or when they preferred to be fed as well as suggestions to adjust their riding technique. 

"...and Iris says she'd like you to be a little gentler when you nudge her and make sure you brush her down properly on the underside of her belly--"

In between questions Bilba glared at Gandalf every chance she got with all the annoyance she could muster in her tiny body.

_ “ I hate you_ _.”_   She mouthed at him.

Gandalf’s bright smile and jaunty wave was too much.

She was no longer on speaking terms with Gandalf the Grey.

*****

The Troll Hoard was just as she remembered it. Dark, damp and stinking bad enough to make her eyes water and bile rise in the back of her throat.  With t he light of the moon only reaching as far as its mouth before they were swallowed in  darkness,  Bilba's  eyes adjusted slowly, able to make out the grim set to  Nori's  face and disgusted twist of  Kili's .

"They're certainly living the high life here-"  Kili whispered, covering his mouth with one hand as he swayed looking as though he was about to vomit. 

"Let's just get the stuff and get out of here."  Nori muttered.

As they stepped forward, Bilba between Nori and Kili, they found the floor was covered with debris and things that snapped under Bilba's bare feet. She pretended they were twigs and not the bones of the unfortunates who had crossed paths with the trolls. It was perhaps one of the few times she wished she had shoes to wear.

As Bilba looked around, able to make out faint silhouettes of items stored in the cave she felt a ball of dread curl in her stomach. Where was the barrel of weapons - dusty swords, rusting axes and blunt arrows? 

Her head turned to the right.

There was a chest - the gold - Nori and Gloin's long-term 'deposit', moving swiftly she reached out and hauled open the lid.

Nothing.

Gone.

Someone had been here first.

Behind her Nori cursed and Kili lit the makeshift torch they'd brought - a short but thick stick with cloth wrapped tightly at one end.

In the dim light cast by the torch Bilba could see that the cave had been stripped of everything she remembered. Whoever had come before them had been very thorough in their work. Only the occasional pale bone and animal skeleton littered the cave. At the far wall the barrel that had held the weapons had been smashed and scattered, the chest beside her covered in much and darker stains - blood. 

"It's empty," She murmured quietly, a sick feeling settling in her stomach. Why had this event changed? Perhaps the Trolls had moved their loot to another cave nearby? Would they have time to find it before the Orcs and Wargs showed up tomorrow? Unless that event had changed too, she thought worriedly.

Nori appeared at her side, shifting slightly on his feet - a sure sign of nerves."Best we be leaving." he murmured, his pointed red hair glinting in the torchlight. 

"Good idea - this place gives me the creeps."  Kili  shivered, lifting the torch higher and leading the way out, turning to help haul Bilba out of the cave's sloped mouth. "I'm sure Uncle will be disappointed at the loss of - what was it? 

"Orcrist" Bilba supplied, thinking of Sting, feeling it's loss keenly. Who knew where her little sword was now?

"Even if it was made by Tree Shaggers" Nori smirked.

"It was a fine blade," Bilba muttered, remembering how the sword had shone and glinted in the light as Thorin slashed his way through Goblins and Orcs in the Battle of Five Armies - or striding towards Azog \- blade held high above his head, ready to attack his enemy...

*****

It was due to an interesting turn in events that Gandalf the Grey found himself stripped and stuffed in a sack. A dirty, itchy sack. It was perhaps not the most comfortable of places to be held captive, the material scratched at his skin and the Trolls had stolen his staff (or star-stick as they'd called it) , tossing it carelessly atop the various other weapons they'd collected from the dwarves.  He had winced as it landed with a crack atop the axes and swords, dearly hoping they hadn't marked the wood or crystal.

"They'll do nice for the cave dun you think Bert?" the first said.

The second troll, sitting at the back by the rough pen that held their ponies, snorted. "It's the collectin' thas the fun part anyway - though it'd be better if these were elves-"

"Bah! Elves!" spat the one stirring the pot, letting a thick glob of mucus fall into the mix.

Earlier, Gandalf had split the boulder at the back of the clearing from the force of his spell casting. Unfortunately the blinding light that had emanated from his staff had only blinded the Trolls temporarily and not induced a strong stiffness in their limbs as he'd hoped. Trolls turned to stone in the light of day and his spell was meant to replicate that. There was of course, no substitute for the warmth of the sun so the dwarves had barely managed to wriggle a short way before they were snatched up again and put back in their place.

"Another one for the pot!" the Trolls laughed as one tossed Gandalf atop the Company while a third stirred the thick brown sludge they'd be eating for dinner. "Any more where they come from?"

"No need - we've got n'ough here."

"I was thinkin' fer tomorrah!"

"We's got nags fer tomorrah!"

Turning away from the three Trolls moaning about their empty bellies, Gandalf did a quick headcount. "Where is Bilba? Where is the Hobbit?" he rasped. Had they already eaten her before he arrived? He'd simply gone ahead to check the area, trying to sense whether Orcs were nearby, none were, so he'd come back. Only to find the dwarves being snatched up by trolls, their supplies (thankfully still packed) lying about the campsite forgotten.

"The Hobbit is long gone." Gloin muttered grumpily to the wizard, eyes fixed on the trolls pulling out ropes and a long pole as they set up a spit, their 'stew' having been deemed ready.

"Gone? Gone where? She would not have left us--"

"I told her to go." Thorin spoke up. He had pushed her to the side actually - shoved her out of the way of the grasp of a Troll's grubby fist and into a bush to hide until she could get away. She could probably make it to the secret passage to Rivendell and raise the alarm. Not that the elves there would help them. "She will have gone for help...to the elves." Gandalf twisted in his itchy carrier to get a better look. Thorin's hair was a mess of tangles, face smeared with mud and eyes resigned. 

"She will not return in time."

*****

_ "...is she dead?" _

_ "Don't ask such stupid questions - of course she's not..." _

_ "...blood - right there..." _

_ "Careful, she may have concussion..." _

Bilba's head pounded fiercely, her back ached and she was sure to be covered in bruises come morning.

"She's waking up!"

Bilba groaned pitifully, "oh don't shout, please." she felt cool hands pressing on her forehead and another stroking soothingly through her hair. Slowly, and with great effort, Bilba opened her eyes.

She blinked.

The elves grinned back at her, wearing simple camouflaged tunics and boiled leather vests, long dark hair tied back with leather cords. Their looks, to many who didn't know them, were identical.

"What in Yavanna's name are you _two_  doing here!"

In front of her, kneeling in the dirt, were Elladan and Elrohir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was longer than I expected and Elladan and Elrohir were supposed to be introduced in Rivendell and not at the side of our unconscious Hobbit! 
> 
> Updates a little late this week as I was away for the weekend at my cousins 30th birthday partayyyy ^.^ I'm also working on some fan art of another AU I may write later which will be posted to my Tumblr fatynthemachine as a thank you for my new followers (almost 100!)
> 
> A bigbigbig thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, bookmarked and subscribed! 
> 
> Next chapter the trolls meet our Burglahobbit!
> 
> Who's prepared to get their hearts ripped out for BOFA? Not me. I think the teaser trailer's being released today :O


	8. The Strangest Thing

 

"We are burdened with _glorious purpose_ , my lady." They said, trying and failing to sound serious, their thin lips twitching in effort to hold back a smile.  

"But - but you're here!" Bilba squeaked as they helped her up and let her lean against the tree behind her, "And you know me!" Her legs were a little wobbly and her head swam as she leant back against the rough bark of the tree. 

The twins shared a truly serious look this time, speaking earnestly while Elrohir dabbed at a cut on her forehead and Elladan ran about the campsite piling up the Dwarves packs. "We swear we'll tell you more once we reach Rivendell. Ada helped us work out the how, but the should, would, and could parts are going to take some time. We've been drawing out plans and such since we woke up - it's been so boring having to wait for you, Bilba." 

"Though we're glad you’re here now, we were wondering where your Dwarves are?" 

Bilba let out a terrified whimper. The trolls! The company! "Quickly, we have to hurry - it's a long way and they took the ponies!" What if she was too late? She needed to stall the Trolls until the sun rose—Gandalf? Was he with them or just waiting for the right moment?

"Hush!" 

Bilba quietened immediately, her mouth snapping shut, the elves frozen as they listened. _Thud-thud-thud_. she could feel it coming through the ground, the vibrations sent little shivers spiking up her legs. 

"Ouch!" 

Elladan's eyes were wide and fixed on something to her left, his breathing quick and quiet. Elrohir's voice was so low she could barely make it out above the whisper of the wind in the trees. 

"Have no fear Bilba - we'll be right behind you - just do what you do best..." 

Then, quick as a flash, they were gone. 

"Wait!" Bilba yelled, stumbling forward, tripping over a root and choking on a mouthful of muck and leaves as she hit the dirt. "Where are you going?!" Sharp pain spiked through her palms and the balls of her feet as the ground shuddered. 

The stench hit her before she felt the large rough hand snatch her up from the ground, spluttering and spitting. 

"You're nots very hairy for a dwarf." 

Bilba could barely breathe, the Troll's hand clenched tightly around her chest, and its foul smell hit the back of her throat like a punch to the gut. 

"I'm not a dwarf!" she gasped, pushing at the hand that held her tightly around her chest and wriggling in an attempt to loosen its grip.

"What is you then?" 

Her mind raced. Though they’d planned to avoid the Trolls she hadn’t accounted for them coming to find her! ”I’m - well - I'm a burglarobbit!"  

Though, on the plus side, she wasn’t covered in Troll snot.

***** 

"I DIDN'T COME ALL THIS WAY JUST TO BE CRUSHED IN THE STINKING MITT OF A TROLL! IF YOU DON’T PUT ME DOWN YOU’LL WISH YOUD NEVER SPRUNG UP FROM THE ORC SHIT YOU SPROUTED FROM YOU UGLY OVERGROWN KNOME!" 

It was a sight Gandalf would never forget. The Troll named William (or Bill), looking strangely contrite, lowered the angry Hobbit to the ground seeming nervous. Bilba, covered in dirt with twigs in her hair and a tear in the sleeve of her jacket, immediately set her hands on her hips and glared furiously. 

"You should be ashamed of yourself! How do you expect the magic to work if you keep picking me up! You'll never get any elves to eat at this rate." 

Bill ground his manky teeth, leathery skin on the jaw twisting as he looked down at the ground. "s'just checkin' you dint run away..." 

"If I was going to run away you wouldn't have been able to stop me! Now, my dwarves..." Bilba turned and caught sight of them all strung up in sacks. Her look of amusement turned to confusion "Gandalf?" 

"Hello dear!" Gandalf replied cheerily, smiling and wiggling a bit in lieu of waving at her - everything below his neck trapped inside the sack they'd stuffed him in. Even parts of his hair was trapped, pulling uncomfortably at his scalp. 

The troll Bilba had entered the clearing with, had moved back over to the fire, sitting sullenly staring at the pot while his fellows, Tom and Bert, were torn between asking him questions and looking at the small creature - certainly not a Dwarf - in their midst. 

"What's this then?" Bert rumbled, waving his large spoon in her direction. "Another one for the pot? Won't be more than a mouthful..." 

Bill shook his head fiercely, " _She aint for eatin_!" he hissed, "she's _magic_."  

"Not for eating?" Bert said stunned. "What good's she if she aint fer eating - magic or no..."  

Bilba darted out of the way as he reached for her. "Not only is that rude, it's incredibly bad luck!" she yelled, waving her finger at him in the way her fussy Baggins Aunt used to do when she went 'adventuring'. 

"Rubbish!" Tom ground out, he too reaching out to snatch her up. 

Bilba was glad she was small and quick, being so enabled her to dodge their clumsy attempts easily. "Is not!" she shouted back. "And if you don't be nice to me I can make the dwarves _and_ my ponies disappear!" 

"Theys aint yours - we gots em, so their ours!" Tom snarled. 

"Well if I hadn't lured them here then you wouldn't have either!" Bilba snarled back, showing her teeth, though she was considerably less menacing - like a ferocious baby rabbit. 

The Company, upon hearing her exclamation started wriggling about in their sacks, cussing and yelling. 

"How could you!" 

"We trusted you!" 

"Lured us here? TRAITOR!" Gloin roared. 

Bert finally managed to get a hold of her jacket, lifting her in the air by the collar pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 

"We're going to cook and eat them and there's nothing you can do!" he gave her a hard shake for good measure, grinning when she shrieked. 

Bilba's face was flushed, she felt sick and a little dizzy from when she’d bashed her head but she had to press on. It wouldn't be long until dawn. "And what would you know about cooking Dwarf? Honestly!" 

Bert's weathered face scrunched up in a scowl. "I've had plenty of Dwarves--" 

"And you're going to cook them in that or on the spit? Well they're going to taste horrid like that, I'd pour the whole thing out and start again. You want a nice stew not some slop you scraped out of a sewer!" She sneered. 

"Why you little--" Bert's grip on her tightened and Bilba let out a quiet whine as her head swam.

"Look!" 

Bilba wished Elladan and Elrohir had stayed out of sight, their sudden appearance at the edge of the clearing made her grind her teeth. The elf twins slowly made their way towards her with glassy eyed stares almost as if they were enchanted... 

Bless her ability to think on her large furry feet!

"No don't touch them!" she ordered. "Put me down quick!" 

It was with great surprise that Bert did as she bid, though his suspicious scowl was still in place, large hand hovering above her ominously. Maybe they would squish her into jelly. 

Strangely, the pair knelt at the Hobbit's feet, bowing their heads. _I can work with this_... 

"Over there - with the rest of them if you please..." The tall dark haired elves clad in boiled leather and sturdy tunics rose and shuffled over to the pile of Dwarves. "Sit." She commanded, only feeling a little bit guilty at ordering them about like dogs. The elves sat with their backs to Bilba and the Trolls and crossed their legs. 

Bill laughed uproariously, waving about his hands in his excitement. "I tolds you both! She's the one that's bringing them here - we won't ever have to have a scrawny farmer again." 

"How're you doin' this?" Bert demanded, leaning forward and sending a wave of putrid breath straight into her face. Her eyes watered.

"It's the ears," Bilba sniffed arrogantly. "Elves have the same you see. And the Dwarves like hair..." Bilba patted her head and held out her foot so the Trolls could inspect the thick curls that covered the tops of her feet. Bilba pointed to the backs of Elledan and Elrohir, "They come to me just like that. I look after them and when I get hungry I eat them. I had a hundred Dwarves to begin with - very tasty - and when you have a hundred dwarves there's a lot of ways you can cook them - so I'm an expert really. You should be pleased that I can give you my help - that I'm even _willing_ to share..." 

It was perhaps an even stranger turn of events (than that of being stripped of his robes and stuffed in a sack) that Bilba Baggins, a Hobbit of the Shire managed to talk the three Trolls in doing as she bid them. They tipped out the foul smelling stew, refilled it with water and added all sorts of herbs and fungus to the pot, and when one of them winged about being hungry and having a snack she was quick to stop them with a scowl and threats of leaving and letting their meal go. 

"And these are mushrooms - delicious, but because there's three of you we'll need plenty..." 

While the Trolls were distracted by Bilba's chattering Gandalf watched with twinkling eyes as Elladan and Elrohir shuffled forward and slowly - and carefully - pulled out several daggers from their tunics. They cut the ties of the Dwarves nearest to them - Fili and Kili - and passed the youngsters knives to help cut and pass through the company. 

"Don't move" they whispered. "Act like you're still caught up till Bilba gives the signal." 

Elladan and Elrohir winked at the befuddled Dwarves while Gandalf watched their Burglar's progression. Now his hair was loosened from the sack and had ceased pulling at his scalp, Gandalf found his position rather enjoyable. Best of all, the Trolls hadn't noticed a thing. 

***** 

"See, doesn't it smell good?" Bilba prompted, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in, feeling smug when the Trolls did the same.  

"I'm so hungry I want to eat it now!" 

Almost... 

"No it's not done we've got to add the meat before the sun comes up - I don't fancy being turned to stone." 

"Oh no!" Bilba announced drawing the attention of her smelly ‘students’. "The meat won't cook in time for sunrise and you wouldn't want to be in pain from some poorly cooked Dwarf!" two of the Trolls groaned, the third was much smarter and narrowed his small beady eyes at her.  "Terrible stuff - I only did it once myself, and once is enough, trust me!" she said earnestly, raising her eyebrows and looking the Troll straight in the eye. “The stew’s actually ready now - go on, you give it a try.”

Once you lie to a Dragon, three Trolls is easy.

Two of them reached eagerly from the pot, smacking each other's hands away in order to be the first one to eat, but the third smacked them both over the head with his ladle. "Let the Burbblabbit try it first..." he scooped up a ladle full and held it out so it was level with her face.  

It truly did smell delicious. 

Bilba smiled and politely declined. "Though I'd love to have some myself I've already eaten and I wouldn't want to deprive you of your dinner. Truly! You can have a bigger share if I don't have any and I swear I'll make something even more delicious tomorrow with the dwarves, though there may even be a few more elves to put in by then..." 

Bill reached out, punching Tom in order to snatch up the hot pot in his large rough hands, the heat which had turned the bottom a searing red did not seem to affect his skin and he tipped the pot up to pour the stew into his mouth taking great gulps of the steaming mixture. 

"Thas enough!" Bert growled.

"Don be greedy you'll eat it all!" 

The pot changed hands and the second Troll took several more large gulps before reluctantly passing it to the third. 

"Oh that is good!" 

Soon the pot was empty. Bilba didn't move. Had it worked?  

Bert reached out and slammed his fist down onto Tom’s shoulder who gave a yelp of pain. 

"Whas that for!" 

"You had a blurrrdy big thing on yer shuuulder." 

Bill fell backwards off the log and didn't get up and Bilba let out a quiet sigh of relief.  

It had worked. 

Feeling rather pleased with herself she waved cheerily at the Company - all looking at her as though she’d just revealed she was part Goblin. She started humming and wandered over to the pony pen as the Trolls swayed and pushed each other - the pricking in her hands and feet receded to a dull twinge every now and then until it was gone completely. While the Dwarves scrambled about, pulling on clothes and armour Bilba spoke quietly to the distressed animals with promises that they would be in Rivendell soon. 

"I want an extra bag of oats for this Bilba!" 

"I can't carry a Dwarf _and_ their supplies - I was grabbed rather roughly and my side's all sore…” 

"You best tell them not to kick so hard - I won't be forced I tell you!" 

***** 

"That recipe was inspired by my mother." She told them once they were dressed and armed once more.  

Gandalf chuckled, "Ah, Belladonna!" he gave a pleased sigh, glad to be back in his robes again and mounted his horse. “An excellent choice, my dear.”

Fili and Kili were giggling about something with Bofur as she rode up front with Gandalf, Elladan and Elrohir. 

Thorin, Dwalin, Balin and Gloin rode next with, Dori, Ori, Nori and Oin while Bombur and Bifur rode with Bofur, Kili and FIli at the rear.

"So Bilba," Bofur grinned as he trotted his pony closer, ” _tasty_ are we?" 

Bilba was sure she blushed. She hadn’t meant - _well_. What had she meant? Food, yes. Dwarves as food. They’d probably be full of grit and rocks - break her teeth for sure! Though… _all those muscles_.

Elladan and Elrohir choked and Bofur sported a startled expression as the company roared with laughter.

Oh. She’d said that out loud.

Bilba’s face burned so hot she could probably give Smaug’s fire a run for its money. She was never going to hear the end of this she was sure.

Ten minutes later, the chilling howls of Wargs rent the air.

It was hard - running - when you’d had no sleep the night before, missed dinner and possibly had concussion. Her head had thankfully stopped bleeding a while ago though she hadn’t had chance to wash up so it stuck to her head and made her hair clump together at the side.

They had released the ponies, seeing their heaving sides and spit covered mouths made them reluctantly agree to continue on foot. Bilba had spoken with them hurriedly, explaining that they were to follow Elladan and Elrohir’s horses to Rivendell where they would be safe.

“And you Bilba, will you be safe?” Murtle whinnied.

“I will,” she told her pony softly, though neither truly believed it.

*****

They had been running toward the secret entrance, Gandalf beside him at the mouth of it beckoning the others forward with occasional shouts of “Hurry up!” and “Faster you fools!” 

Oin cast a glare at the wizard. _They_ were not the ones who decided to let a mentally deficient brown robed man with a sled pulled by Rabbits try to distract the beasts! Had they not been captured by Trolls the night before and had a good nights rest he was sure the company could have dispensed with the thirty-something Wargs and Orcs chasing them with ease. 

He watched, and counted, as the rest of their company jumped through the gap, waiting for his younger brother who had been protecting the back of the company. Oin had looked up, just a quick check to make sure Gloin had not decided to make a ‘final stand’, and felt his heart take residence in his throat. His brother was fine, but their Halfling was not. 

A fast riderless Warg the size of their ponies, leapt forward and sank its teeth into the shoulder of their Burglar, her jacket immediately darkening with blood. 

“BILBA!” The elves who had only just slid through the opening, leapt back out, though they were too late. 

The look of surprise on her face as it lifted her up and gave her a little shake, toying with her, would stay with him long into the night - her loud, shrill scream echoed inside his head.

The Warg dropped the gasping Halfling to the floor, her hands grasping at the dirt, and growled as it lent down to bite her again. It's teeth were long and sharp and would surely pierce through the Halflings body easily hitting a lung or perhaps her heart. She wore no armour or leather, simply shirts and little brown jacket to blend in better.

The Warg jerked back, yelping and twisting as vines and roots shot out of the ground, thorns digging deep into the matted fur and drawing blood, twisting around its neck and legs, hauling it downward _snap-snap-snap._ The Warg crumpled to the floor, struggling ineffectively against the thorny vines that were still sprouting from the floor to wrap around it.

Gloin, who had been closest to their Burglar, turned back and scooped up the gasping Hobbit in one arm, burying his axe in the head of another approaching Warg with a roar. 

Oin busied himself with readying bandages, ointments and pain relief for their Halfling while the twin elves emptied their quivers into their assailants. Just as he turned to watch his brother slide down the sharp slope a call of a horn sounded loud enough for even him to hear clearly.

_About bloody time those weed-eaters arrived!_

Later that night, when they were all resting in Rivendell Oin would reflect on their mad chase to the secret entrance and think that he had ever seen anything like it in his life. It was, he thought, the strangest thing he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been thinking about Dwarven muscles a lot Bilba? Huh? I bet you have.


	9. Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an explanation of the how....

Rivendell was magnificent, as always. Though Bilba really couldn’t take in its beauty just now, stumbling along beside her companions. The secret entrance to the Elven City had been too narrow for her to be carried comfortably and so she had walked, every step jarring her shoulder. They had walked quickly through the halls, Elladan instructing servants to draw baths, make beds and send messages to the kitchens.

When they reached the healing houses, the Company refusing to leave her completely unguarded meant Dori kept her company while the Elven Healers tended to her. Bilba was unceremoniously ordered to strip and climb into a warm bath to wash off the dirt.

“I’ve got to be doing something or they’ll ask me to leave dear,” Dori said simply as she poured warm water over her matted hair, combing gently through the tangles “I used to do this for Ori and Nori when they were small, wash and dry and braid their hair in the evenings though neither will let me near them now - _I’m too old for this -_ or - _I’m not a baby anymore Dori_!” The Dam reminisced, telling stories of her siblings, doing a wonderful job of distracting her as the elves changed her bath water and cleaned her wounds.

Bilba did everything they told her to do, drinking vials of foul liquids and turning this way and that as they made quick work of stitching up the teeth marks and tears in her shoulder. She had been lucky they were headed to Rivendell. If it had been a city of men or they had still been out in the wilds somewhere it was possible she could have lost her arm - or even died. Not that she thought Oin would let it go that far. Her eyelids grew heavy as she soaked in the bath, eventually hauling herself out and drying off behind a wooden screen the Elves had set up for her.

The bed was heavenly, Dori finding a footstool to help her onto the high mattress, letting loose a breathy sigh when she sank into it. If asked to recall what Dori said after that Bilba wouldn’t be able to remember, her eyelids growing heavy and limbs like lead as she lay on the soft bed, sleeping deeply in the safe haven of Rivendell.

*****

The elves had prepared a large sheltered courtyard and adjoining rooms for the Dwarves, often used for visiting dignitaries and their guards. There was a magnificent view overlooking the waterfall and gardens below, and the Company grumbled a little quieter for the well furnished rooms and soft beds.

Elladan and Elrohir grinned when they heard the splashing and roughhousing of the Dwarves while they cleaned up, taking their time to relax after their eventful night and terrifying morning dash from Orcs and Wargs. It was even better when they caught Lindir trying to sneak out of the rooms after checking them over. They had grinned, Lindir paled and tried to hurry away but Elladan and Elrohir wrapped their arms around his waist and pulled him down to sit with them.

Lindir, their father’s steward, ended up sandwiched between them on a soft chaise long, flustered and well on his way to being quite red in the face. Elladan threw his arm over the elf’s shoulders while Elrohir’s hand rested innocently on his knee, thumb smoothing over the soft linen robe he wore.

“Perhaps you could have come along - it would have been quite the adventure. I’m sure even Ada bores _you_ sometimes…”

Lindir shook his head, sounding affronted. “What? N-no of course not! Lord Elrond is _most_ interesting—“

His stammering was adorable. Elladan let out a slow sigh, his warm breath tickled Lindir’s ear and brushed down over his cheek to curl at his neck making the young man shiver.

“They put the Dwarves - even Gandalf - into sacks…It didn’t look like they had more than two left.”

“Had you come we could have shared a sack…”  
Lindir’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But I thought they stripped the dwarves first - that would have meant that they were—“

“Naked. Yes.” Elladan teased, twirling Lindir’s soft dark hair around his fingers as their friend grew flushed.

“Boys. Leave Lindir be.”

At the deep, commanding tone they both recognised, Elladan and Elrohir looked up at their father with wide beseeching eyes and Lindir let out a faint squeak. They shuffled closer to the flustered steward whose cheeks turned pink.

Elrond’s eyes narrowed. “Now.”

Reluctantly, though they knew better than to disobey their father when he was in one of his _moods,_ they moved apart and watched with disappointment as Lindir shot up and made a hasty bow to Lord Elrond before darting out.

Lord Elrond shut the door and faced his sons. He stood tall and intimidating, still in his silvered armour and sword hanging from his hip, dark hair loose against his shoulders and circlet shining against his brow. He spoke slowly, with great deliberation, and the twins knew they were in trouble. 

“Since your _return_ you have taken delight in both ignoring my instructions and annoying my steward—“

“He doesn’t mind us really—“

“Quiet!” Elrond snapped.

_This would not be pretty._

Aware of the shrinking posture of his sons Lord Elrond began to speak. “Imagine my surprise to find not only Orc and Warg corpses littering our borders - and so close to the secret entrance - but many with arrows having been their cause of death. It was those arrows, with such _familiar_ fletching I could have _sworn_ were crafted by my own sons.” the twins, feeling like young boys once again as their father spoke, swallowed nervously. “But that was surely not the case, especially seeing as I explicitly told them not to leave our lands with the goal of finding the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.” Elladan shrank a little under the disappointed gaze of his father, Elrohir shuffling closer to his brother.

“Once the guard saw your arrows, and I knew my assumptions on their makers were not false, they became concerned that you had been attacked and _perhaps captured._ ” It was a subtle reminder, though it stung them both deeply to be reminded of such a time. Their mother had been captured by Orcs and though they had finally managed to rescue her, she had not been the same and though she tried to stay in Rivendell for her children but it was not the same and she sailed soon after. “I then had to explain to the Guard that we would be heading back to Rivendell immediately as my sons had retrieved our _guests_ already - none aware that I had extended any invitation at all and especially not to Dwarves!” from behind him he pulled his own quiver, filled with his son’s bloody arrows.

“Here. Get them cleaned and put them back where they belong.” He ordered. Elrohir took the quiver hastily. “I want you to wash, dress and be ready for the evening meal. Since you sought to bring the Dwarves here yourselves and will be responsible for all they do during their stay. I will speak to you more on our plans tomorrow once Miss Baggins has had a good nights rest and is perhaps feeling more up to discussions then.” With one last stern faced glare at them, Elrond too left the room.

The twins collapsed inelegantly on the sofa with matching sighs.

“That went better than I thought it would.” Elrohir muttered.

Elladan’s head lolled against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed, expression pained. “He’s angry though.”

“I’m afraid so, brother.”

It took only a moment to realise that there was a hushed silence around them, the splashing and laughter had stopped and all they could hear was the constant rush of the waterfall.

“Excuse me.” The elves jolted in their seats. A young Dwarf with dark red hair and covered in knitted cardigans and scarves stood beside their chaise, “I couldn’t help but overhear - you knew we were coming and came to find us?”

“That we did young one.” They said kindly. They had seen few dwarves despite being so old (though young for the race of elves) and had never really had the chance to speak to a dwarf up close. They felt it best to make a good impression.

“We know, that you know, that Bilba knows about the future.” Elladan smiled.

“And we would like to let you know, that we know, that Bilba knows that we know, and were quite possibly sent back together.” Elrohir continued in a mystical tone.

The Dwarf’s eyes were wide and she took a step closer. “But how - that’s amazing - where were you when it happened? Bilba says she was sailing to the Undying Lands but everyone knows only elves are allowed to go there—“

Pleased to have made such a good impression Elladan and Elrohir sat up a little straighter to tell the story properly, missing the way the young Dwarf’s eyes flicked over their shoulder and back again just as quick. “You see, Bilba was special - is special, truly. She and Frodo were given permission by the Valar to sail with us due to their trials as Ring Bearers and helping to destroy the One Ring—“

The young Dwarf’s eyes were wide as though she was surprised. “Wait…surely you don’t mean _the One Ring_ \- the One Ring that was made by _Sauron_!”

Elrohir frowned confusedly at her. “Of course we do, there is no other.”

Elladan nodded. “Bilba found the One Ring and carried it for most of her previous life, it’s amazing how she resisted its call considering how often she used it during your journey, especially when sneaking through Thranduil’s Palace, past the Dragon and even during the Battle of Five Armies! She fought right up until she was knocked unconscious—”

“It was by some bugger who was throwing rocks wasn’t it? Of all the things to down our Hobbit! Stone Giants, Goblins, Wargs, Orcs, Trolls, Spiders, a Dragon…” Elrohir let out a disbelieving huff.

His brother nodded earnestly. “You are blessed to have such a determined and selfless travelling companion, and knowing all you have faced together she still wants to do it all again! She resisted the Ring’s calling right till the end, only one of incredible will and strength can resist such a pull - and that was _before_ she knew it was evil. It is harder to resist something when it is benign.”

Ori looked between the two with growing alarm, her eyes widening and mouth slowly opening as the elves told her things Bilba had only mentioned in passing. Their Hobbit had told them nothing of being captured and sneaking about Thranduil’s Palace (why would she do such a thing?) and this ‘Battle of Five Armies’ had never even crossed her lips! Surely Bilba could not have forgotten something so important!

“…Bilba then passed the ring onto her nephew Frodo who with his companions - I suppose you know of Gimli? Are you related? Well it is quite a tale, they journeyed to Mordor to destroy the Ring with our cousin Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir and—Are you quite alright, you look unwell?”

Just as Elrohir reached out to the Dwarf, another, with the same red hair though spiked up in three points with elaborately braided eyebrows caught the younger one in his arms, lifting her easily. 

He looked up slowly and fixed the two elves with a glare. 

“What—?” The feeling of sharp, cold steel pressing between Elrohir’s shoulder blades made him freeze, he looked worriedly at his brother. Another Dwarf, red haired with a mighty scowl held the blade of an axe to his brother’s throat. The Dwarves, previously unseen moved so they surrounded the twins, each with hands on the hilts of their knives, hammers and swords as they studied them.

Their leader, Thorin Oakenshield, moved around the chaise to stand in front of the elves and glowered forbiddingly. “You will tell us everything you know. _You will leave nothing out_.”

*****

Bilba woke the next day, the sky already beginning to darken, to find Lord Elrond hovering over her a bewildered look on his face. 

“My Lord?” she croaked.

“Ah, it is good you are awake.” he said, schooling his features as he passed the Hobbit a glass of water. “If you are feeling well enough I would like to speak with you now. How are you feeling?” he asked. 

Bilba licked her lips and nodded, “I’m feeling much better now thank you, the elvish medicine has worked wonders.” she smiled.

Lord Elrond looked uncomfortable. It was strange considering many times she’d seen him he’d very rarely shown any other emotion than serene peace and contentment when in the presence of others.

“That is part of what I wished to speak with you about.” carefully, he prodded her arm. “No pain?” 

Bilba shook her head. “There is none, truly.”

Elrond hummed under his breath and gestured to her bandages around her shoulder and ribs. Bilba nodded her ascent and he carefully began to unwind them himself. “I thought it was all a joke at first,” Elrond began, taking his time with undoing the careful wrappings. “Elladan and Elrohir came straight to me asking why we had come back to Rivendell when we were so close to Vallinor. _Back_? I said. We had never left! As I’m sure you know, my sons like to play tricks so I thought it a game. I played along until they realised and told me things they could not have known about - things that were yet to happen, and I could not help but believe. I had seen some of these things in my visions,” he added darkly, “fire and blood and destruction - hope and peace and wonder.”

Bilba wasn’t sure she quite understood but nodded anyway.

“If it was confusing for me - and I had no memories of such times, only my sons’ words, but you, waking up alone…”

“I thought I had passed on,” Bilba admitted cautiously. “That I was in Yavanna’s Garden and it had taken the shape of Bag End. I was ever so confused when Gandalf arrived with the Dwarves and none of them could remember me. I thought it horribly cruel to know them so well and them think of me as a stranger. Like you I thought it a joke too.”

The elf Lord looked at her sympathetically. “My sons wanted to come after you. I was waiting for them in the stables. Forgive me for my actions but I feared it would do more harm than good - your Dwarves seeing you so closely allied with elves early on could have been detrimental to fostering new relationships between you and the company. Also, Gandalf has a way of sticking his nose into everything that matters, and even things that don’t.”

He finally unwrapped the last of the bandage and Bilba followed his gaze to stare at her shoulder. There was no blood. No stitches. No gaping wound. “ _Yavanna bless_ …” she breathed, moving her shoulder gently up and down only to feel not the slightest twinge of pain. A small white scar ran from the top of her shoulder and around her upper arm, looking as though it had healed years ago.

“It is as I thought.” Elrond nodded, why did he make it sound so ominous? Surely it was a good thing? Her arm would have taken weeks, if not months to heal and could have slowed the Company down putting the whole timeline at risk! Had she been in pain or unable to use her arm she would have been a liability on the quest and that was something they definitely did not need.

 “I have noticed changes in my sons too.” he added. “Little things like how they will sometimes stop in the middle of a path or walkway and close their eyes. Or they will suddenly start laughing and will not tell me why…” there was a distant look in his eyes and Bilba cleared her throat to bring him back. Elrond blinked rapidly and shifted in his own seat. “Did you know there was once contact between Middle Earth and those in the Undying lands?” Elrond said casually, rolling up the clean bandage. “It was trade only and a comparably easy journey to what it is now.”

“What changed?” Bilba asked, curious despite the ominous words.

“Sauron” Elrond replied softly, and Bilba sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth. “In the year 3319 of the Second Age, he managed to trick the last King of Numenor that if he conquered and became the ruler of the Undying Lands, he himself would become immortal. He persuaded him that it was a man’s right and all he had to do was claim it. To stop this from happening Iluvatar removed the Undying lands from the reach of mortals and only elves were allowed to set sail across the Sea.” Bilba didn’t speak, not knowing what to say. “And so you see, no ordinary ships were able to reach the lands. So, in order for our ships to make the journey, they were enchanted by the Valar, and so, when you fell from the deck and over the side…you were pulled back to Middle Earth.”

Now she was terribly confused. “But if I was pulled back, why am I not old? Why am I in a different time?”

A frown appeared on Elrond’s forehead, making familiar creases across his brow. “I believe it is because you were so old, your body did not last the journey - not many would even if they were younger and stronger.” Bilba nodded, listening intently as Lord Elrond spoke carefully. “My theory is that though your body had failed, your soul continued to be pulled back with such force that it brought you back through time - to a place where you have strong bonds to.” Elrond spoke quicker now, as though his thoughts had picked up in pace and he had to let his ideas out into the open for her to see them too. “Now, usually your soul would have gone to the Halls of Mandos or -“

“The Garden of Yavanna.”

“Yes, but there was _something_ that kept you tethered.” The elf Lord paused, all enthusiasm seeming to drain from him at once, calm again. “My sons.”

_Elladan and Elrohir had kept her from passing on? How?_

“Elrohir was closest to you when you fell, he managed to catch you but was pulled in as well. His soul returned to his younger body as yours did.”

“And Elladan?”

“They say that twins share a bond, and my boys have never been apart for long. When the other was in trouble they could feel it. If one was happy the other was happier, if one was grumpy the other would be snappish - even if they had no contact that day or were on two different sides of the city, their behaviours would change.” She could just see them now, the boys young and shorter with dark hair tied back as they trained, tired and grumpy and sweaty. “So, when Elrohir went after you, Elladan’s soul went with him.” Elrond continued. “He described it to me as a darkening of his sight and a pull about his middle toward you both.”

Bilba felt as though she’d just been kicked in the chest. So it was _her_ fault that Elladan and Elrohir were here. 

“My sons knew about the history of the Undying Lands and how we are still able to sail there when our hearts call us there.” Elrond explained. “It is not your fault. I daresay the devotion they show you means they would do it again if it meant they would see you safe.” Elrond lay a comforting hand on her arm. “Though we may not have met in this time till now, from their stories - and they never stop talking about you - I feel as though I have known you much longer.” 

Bilba smiled weakly and thanked him. “And then what happened?” she murmured eventually.

“He lost consciousness, and woke up here,” Elrond summarised simply, watching Bilba with assessing eyes. “Their bond was made stronger when they were brought back, and now they cannot only feel the others emotions but speak to each other through mental means as well. It is a skill few are gifted with and takes many hundreds of years to even begin to learn and control it.” _It’s not all bad,_ is what he seemed to say. “Gandalf has told me you can speak the tongue of beasts.” Elrond prompted, crossing one leg over the other while he sat in the comfortable chair at her bed, drawing his hands back to rest on the arms of the chair.

Bilba shifted in her bed and worried her lip with her teeth. “Not consciously, I just started hearing them one day, I thought I was going mad!”

Noticing her distress Elrond smiled softly. “I believe it is your Hobbit roots coming through.” Bilba choked. “Excuse the pun,” he added, smile fuller now. “While you stay in Rivendell I will assist you in discovering the extent of your powers as I suspect there may be more to them, and Gandalf will help you along the rest of your journey. Do not be afraid of what you can do, it may perhaps be your biggest asset on this quest.”

“My powers?” Bilba froze. “You know of the quest.”

Elrond looked at her sagely. “Yes, and I know it’s end.” he sighed, “though from what my sons have told me, with hindsight it is a good move to strengthen the East though I still have small reservations.”

Bilba almost laughed at the thought of Smaug being a ‘small reservation’.

Elrond stood from his chair and bowed his head, “Now, I have given you a lot of things to take in and I am sure you will want something to nibble on while you mull it over—“ her stomach gave a growl of agreement, “yes, quite. While your arm may have healed, it would be best to catch up on as much rest as you can while you stay in my home, it is a long road ahead and it will not be easier a second time around. Goodnight Bilba Baggins.”

Bilba smiled at the elven Lord, a friend now in both times.

“Goodnight Lord Elrond - and thank you, for everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult to write. The ideas in my head just didn't want to be written down. I did use the lord of the rings wiki for the explanation about the separation of Vallinor to Middle Earth as I'm not as well versed on the Lore of lotr/auj/ts as I would like to be. I'm just hoping my explanation made some sense...
> 
> also shit is goin' DOWN in the next chapter and I'm going to hate it.


	10. Fractious Meetings

Bilba left her room one morning, having been moved to the suite she’d been given by Lord Elrond _last_ time, intending on joining her Dwarves for breakfast seeing as she’d been in the healing Halls for two days already.

Her plan was unfortunately dashed when Elladan and Elrohir appeared and despite her protests, whisked her away for a tour. The tour, which she’d had many times before, took much longer than she remembered; the boys often doubling back on themselves, just wanting to show her _one more thing_ before they returned.

It wasn’t all bad though. They’d taken her to several tailors in the city to record her measurements and make her some new clothes. Soft robes and dresses in fine silk. Warm tunics and thick trousers as well as a lightweight cloak. They’d bought several more essentials for travelling like a groundsheet the could double up as a shelter if secured between trees. They also had the cheek to order her a pair of leather boots made and grinned at her narrow eyed glare as they paid the shopkeeper. “For the ice and snow when even your hard Hobbit feet are frozen!”

Her clothes would arrive in a week and they spent a long time wandering about the market, admiring the stalls. Bilba realised that if she admired something they would discreetly buy it for her - slipping it into a pocket or asking it to be delivered to their father’s house. By the time dinner had passed they were making their way back from the other side of the elven city that Bilba grew tired of their pleads of “Just on _e more thing”_ as it turned out to be several more things before Elladan and Elrohir would even look at her knowing face without trying to distract her further. 

“I can’t help but feel you’re trying to get on my good side” Bilba said, looking awayl as Elladan tried to be discreet about his purchase. She looked at the boys - because they really were still young for elves (if nearly 3000 years could truly be considered young) - shrewdly eyeing their abashed faces and nervous smiles. “Should I be worried?” The subtle shifting of feet made Bilba’s eyes narrow. “What have you done?” she asked cautiously.

Elrohir looked around nervously and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “This way - there’s something we need to tell you…”

*****

Bilba was cooking. Angrily. 

She’d been cooking since she’d risen morning needing a way that wasn’t ‘Strangling loose lipped elves’ or ‘kicking obstinate Dwarrows’ to work out her excess energy. Her Dwarves had been avoiding her since Elladan and Elrohir had informed her that they’d spilled the beans about the future and so she’d busied herself with other pursuits. Content to be elbow deep in pastry and covered in flower she was blissfully avoiding her Dwarves, just as they were doing to her.

She’d let her Dwarves, scowling, betrayed and staring suspiciously at her, cool down for two days allowing the information sink in before she approached them to explain properly.

“Why did you not tell us before?”

“I told you main events and Gandalf said to keep certain things to myself until we were closer to them, that way we wouldn’t change anything we couldn’t fix.” She’d replied calmly though her heart was beating like a drum in her chest and she could hear her pulse in her ears. 

They’d gathered in the quarters they’d been given and pelted her with question after question until Thorin had ordered her away with a wave of his hand. She’d felt like such a child though as soon as the door closed behind her she could hear their shouts immediately - though all in Khuzdul.

Bilba sighed heavily and drew her mind back to the task at hand. 

Cooking. She was good at cooking.

*****

Bombur didn’t speak much with the rest of the company, and though generally overlooked, he counted himself as quite perceptive. He knew when Bifur was going to have one of his ‘episodes’ and when the mood for Bofur’s jokes was going stale (especially in the Blue Mountains when his brother had drunk too much!) and he could detect whether someone was a bad egg. The company were ‘good eggs’, though some of them were a little stuffy. He’d gotten the same feeling from Miss Baggins. She was a good egg. It had nothing to do with the fact that she liked food, was an excellent cook and told very good stories. He’d liked her immediately and the feeling of trust had only grown as he’d observed her while they travelled. 

The others were wary of her of course, but she did her best to be polite and speak with everyone about something - even Bifur though Bofur usually translated for him she didn’t speak to him as though he was a child and couldn’t understand or as though he was not there like some did, . She’d even expressed an interest in learning Igelshmek though that was secret and the gift of learning it had not been given to a non-dwarf in centuries. Bombur hoped that she would be around long enough to learn it. Though considering all the information they’d managed to wring from Bilba’s elves Bombur suspected that she wouldn’t be around for long, especially with the way the Company’s talks were going. It was such a shame they’d no longer be able to trade recipes…

**“You are being ridiculous! We need her—“**

**“She is a liar - keeping such important information to herself is dangerous not only to us but the rest of Middle Earth. Imagine if she’d died from the Warg Bite? Where would we be then!”**

**“I think she should come—“**

**“Far too dangerous”**

**“-there’s bigger things at play…”**

Bombur patted his full stomach. He’d never suspected elves could find so many ways to cook venison - and it wasn’t half bad either. He’d never had any particular hatred for elves like many of his race did, just indifference though he’d quite like to get to know the chefs - perhaps he would visit the kitchens tomorrow - the conversation certainly wasn’t going anywhere, they’d all been over this at least half a dozen times.

**“I say we check the map just in case!”**

**“Oh yes show it to an elf!”**

**“He hasn’t seen it this time…”**

**“Aye but i bet his sons have told him what’s written on it!”**

**“How can we know he’d be tellin’ tha truth?”**

**“We don’t. But if the words written here are the same as what Miss Baggins has told us then we’ll know there is some truth to what she’s said.”**

**“Some truth?”**

**“She hasn’t lied to us yet - just missed out a few bits…”**

On second thoughts. Perhaps he would make that trip down to the kitchens now.

*****

They were leaving in three days and Bilba was still being avoided. She spent most of her time with Gandalf and Lord Elrond in his private Gardens testing out her ‘abilities’.

“Breathe evenly Bilba and put your hands out above the soil - yes like that - now visualise what you want to happen.” Elrond counselled her while Gandalf sat against the trunk of a nearby tree softly humming.

A warmth was coiling in her belly and spreading out down her legs and through her arms into her fingers and toes. Her skin tingled and she imagined vines, grass and blooming flowers growing from the soil, leaves and petals tipping toward the sun…

Gandalf gave a delighted laugh and she opened her eyes and looked down. There in the middle of the bare brown soil was a single green shoot. 

“It’s not exactly what I imagined.” Bilba murmured, staring at the small stem. Compared to the vines she’d apparently wrapped around the Warg that had attacked her it was a pathetic attempt. 

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” Elrond smiled and kneeled down beside her, “it is in fact, a very good effort for your first conscious try.” Bilba tried again, and again, and again. Each time she was a little better. The stem growing taller and even a few more shoots popping up beside it. Elrond congratulated her efforts and they retired to the table and chairs set up nearby to stop for lunch. “I trust you to go on practicing with your gifts once you leave here. I am sure you will improve greatly until the time comes to meet again.”

Bilba nodded, still feeling the warm glow inside her chest and the feeling of reaching out for the spark of life in the plants to help them along. “I’ll do my best.” she agreed.

Every day Bilba practiced whenever she had a spare moment, of which, without her Dwarves to occupy her, she had many. Her only companions were Elladan and Ellrohir and even they had duties to attend to in Rivendell and were preparing for her departure. Bilba split her time between practicing with her knives and puttering about Elrond’s garden attempting to influence the greenery into growing and bending to her will. It was a rather lonely time as though the Dwarves spoke cordially to her during meal times the conversation no longer flowed as easily and they never sought her out.

Well, apart from now of course.

Nori approached with his usual smirk and swagger, his footsteps were easily heard as he approached from across the training grounds looking approvingly at the straw dummy she’d been practicing on.“Very nice - you’ve improved a lot.” Bilba muttered her thanks bashfully. “Creative - eye, neck, heart…groin” he laughed at Bilba’s embarrassed flush. 

“You didn’t come here for Idle chatter Nori” Bilba guessed as she moved over to remove her knives from where she’d struck the dummy. 

Nori looked at her sympathetically and Bilba felt her stomach sink right down to her feet. “His majesty wants a word.” He told her, patting her on the shoulder when they dropped. “I shouldn’t worry too much Bilba, I think they’ve forgiven you - well, they’ve stopped shouting at least.” Bilba attempted a weak smile and Nori rolled his eyes, clapping an arm around her shoulder. “I’ve forgiven you anyhow and that’s all that matters really, I’m clearly your favourite and all. We thieves have got to stick together!” his cheeky grin is ridiculous and he wiggles his braided eyebrows.

“I’m not a thief. Not even a burglar…” she grumbles though she can’t help a small smile from forming.

Her Dwarves have dragged chairs and cushions from the lounge area to gather in the largest of the bedrooms. It’s almost uncomfortably warm and Bilba is aware of her shirt sticking to her in the heat and the muck on her hands realising she must smell less than pleasant from her hours in the training yard this morning.

Fili and Kili are fidgeting on cushions by the fire while Ori fidgets between Dori and Nori who takes his place on her other side. Oin and Gloin are frowning at her from the other side of the room beside Bombur, Bofur and Bifur who all look very uncomfortable. In the centre Balin sits with Dwalin while Thorin stands behind his empty chair.

Being under such close scrutiny Bilba becomes all too aware of how she must look. Her hair has grown longer since she’s left the shire though some strands still escape the band at the back of her neck and her shirt stuck under her arms with sweat. There is mud on her knees from where she’s been crouching by the flower beds and she wishes she’d had time to wash and change, but she knows Dwarves are not the most patient of people. Thorin would have only been even more annoyed had she been late.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Thorin asks, his voice resonates throughout the room and they all still.

Bilba wets her suddenly dry lips. “I believe so.”

“Before we make our decision, we wish to ask a few more questions.” Balin says when nothing more is said. 

“Go ahead,” Bilba says, her voice sounding stronger than she feels. The air is thick with tension and Bilba wishes to be outside in the air surrounded by plants and trees - it’s as if there’s no air and the stares of the Dwarves are all that is keeping Bilba from dashing out of the room. Facing a Dragon she may have done, but somehow, this is worse.

“The Arkenstone-“ 

_Why did it always come down to the Arkenstone? Why did you take it? Why did you give it to the men?_ The questions all revolved around the same thing and Bilba felt herself become annoyed and then angry as Thorin all but said she was mentally deficient and an incompetent liability. She had answered as calmly as she could until now but she was dirty, tired and there was a growing ache in her back and she felt her temper fray.

The more Thorin spoke the angrier he became until he was shouting. “—the Arkenstone is the Heart of the Mountain! A sign by Mahal that I should be the one to rule and you gave it to the bloody Lake Men!”

“The only reason you should be the one to rule is because you deserve it!” Bilba yelled back, her grubby hands clenching at her sides, the Dwarves blinked in surprise and Thorin’s words stuck stiffly in his throat. “Your actions make you a worthy king, not some stone, no matter how pretty it may be! No - don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, I’ve seen it remember? The way the colours shift and it glows like the stars in the sky, small enough to fit in one of your hands and its surface smoother than silk.” she did not need to shout now to know she held their attention. “It was not a stone that led your people into battle or gave them hope and purpose when they could not find it for themselves. It was _you_ who led them West, Thorin. You worked in the towns of men, selling your talents for a pittance just to keep them going—”

Thorin looked livid. “I had to, there was no choice!” he yelled. 

The others watched, not even trying to hide their fascination with the exchange. While the Arkenstone was not merely ‘pretty’ as Bilba had put it, they agreed that there was no other who could have led the Dwarves of Erebor in such difficult circumstances. 

Apart from Balin, Dwalin and Dis, no one spoke to Thorin with such a determined manner, and they definitely did not yell.

“There is always a choice, Thorin.” Bilba crossed her arms over her chest. “I doubt many other Princes would have lowered themselves to work like ‘commoners’, blacken and blister their comfort softened hands and break their backs for a few coins. You gave them a _home_.”

“Do not mock me!” Thorin growled, moving around Balin and Dwalin to stand in front of his chair.

“How am I mocking you?” Bilba gave a disbelieving laugh, forgetting that she must have looked, dirty and hair a mess as she berated the King of Durin’s folk. “You care for your people with a passion that’s rarely seen — we are to face a dragon for Yavana’s sake!” another laugh burst from between her lips as she looked up at his grim face. “There is none who is more worthy - you will make a fine king this time…”

Thorin stilled. “This time?” he repeated, a strange lift to his voice.

Bilba felt a prickling at the back of her neck, becoming more aware of the stares of the company and an air of tension that filled the room. “Yes - though I heard Dain was a fair ruler—“

“Dain?” Thorin growled.

Bilba frowned, “ _Yes,_ Dain. That is what I said—“

“Cheated by my own KIN!” Thorin snarled, stepping forward so his boots were almost touching the tips of her toes. “What did he do to Fili and Kili?! Where was I?” he reached out to grasp her upper arms in his large hands, his grip tight and she hoped she wouldn’t bruise.

Bilba couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth and he was shouting right in her face as though it was her fault and not his for charging out into battle in his bloody golden armour and forcing his way through the enemies ranks to Azog—

“Dain did nothing to you or the boys!” Bilba snarled back, ignoring the stinging behind her eyes. 

Thorin’s face twisted. “THEN WHY WAS I NOT KING!” 

“BECAUSE YOU DIED!”

Thorin’s face paled and then he drew back letting his arms drop to his sides, his mouth opening and closing as though he was going to speak but couldn’t. 

They didn’t know - Elladan and Elrohir hadn’t told them - oh Yavanna,,,

“You - you all rushed out of the front gates into battle in bloody gold armour, dripping in gems and charged straight to Azog—we couldn’t get to you…there were too many a-and I won’t let you - you won’t die this time - not if I can help it!” Bilba choked on her own words and her face twisted she thumped his chest for good measure. The Company was silent.

She stepped back, the only sound to be heard was Bilba’s ragged breaths and rather than calm down she felt panic rise up. Her skin turned clammy and it felt as though she couldn’t get enough air. Thorin was still looking at her and she felt her resolve waver as they all remained silent.

“I’ll just—“ her voice cracked and her hands shook, “I’m sorry.” Bilba turned and darted out of the room, and this time, no shouts of Khuzdul followed her.

*****

It was the early hours of the morning, just before dawn and the day was set to be bright and clear, if a little cold. Despite their surroundings they had all rested well in their plush Elven beds and the benefits of three full meals a day that didn’t consist of tough meat and Cram had worked well on their morale.

“They’re not so bad really—“ Fili murmured from behind his pony, earning raised eyebrows from the company. “—for elves.” he added quickly. He fixed his bedroll to the back of the saddle and made sure everything was secure before moving to help Ori with hers.

“Help your brother lad, I’ve got this.” Dwalin muttered easily sorting out Ori’s saddle so she didn’t slip off when riding. Speaking gruffly toward her happy thanks.

Lord Elrond had spoken with several of his stabled horses in Sindarin who had then clicked and huffed the words to the their ponies, stamping their hooves in what they hoped was agreement. They would ride out of Rivendell and make for the Misty Mountains, once there they would send the ponies back to Rivendell as they intended to take the quickest route which was far more treacherous - as they’d found out _before_.

“Here—“

Thorin looked up from adjusting the saddle of his pony to find the Hobbit beside him dressed in a dark green cloak with leaf clasp and holding out a sheathed sword. Her hair was pulled back again at the base of her neck and she looked tired, but she was ready to go so Thorin couldn’t complain.

“It’s Orcrist.” She supplied and Thorin frowned wondering how the elves came to have it even as he straightened and cautiously took the sword from her grip. “I know. Elladan and Elrohir decided, before we arrived, that they wanted to see what was so great about the Troll Hoard I’d told in my stories.” she rolled her eyes but seemed fond all the same, pulling back her cloak to reveal tough boiled leather armour and thick breeches with a small elven dagger strapped to her side. “This is Sting…” it was just the right length for a Hobbit sword, very useful though they’d have to see if she knew how to use it. “They’d thought to present them to us before we left but I couldn’t find them so Lord Elrond did the honours.” she patted Sting’s sheath and her pleasant expression suddenly turned serious. “I won’t let it happen again you know. I won’t let any of you die - not if I can help it…”

Thorin looked away from her, not wanting to look at the ernest concern on her face, examining his sword instead. it was almost as tall as her but ever so light. The craftsmanship, he admitted grudgingly to himself, was excellent.

“It seems you won’t be letting me do a lot of things.” Thorin replied eventually, knowing without looking that the Company were listening in.

The Hobbit scoffed. “Only the things that will get you killed and lack logic.”

“And the mushrooms…?” Why had he said _that_?

“Mushrooms are delicious,” she sniffed, “it’s hardly my fault you have a simple palette.”

Thorin ignored the amused huffs, he could practically feel Balin’s eyes rolling. He cleared his throat and mounted his pony though made no move to leave, aware that the Hobbit was hesitating beside her mount. “What is it?” 

The Hobbit looked guiltily as her gaze flicked about the courtyard of the stables where they had gathered. “I was hoping to say goodbye to Elladan and Elrohir before we left.”

They have already left to scout ahead,” Thorin told her, his pony Minty shifted restlessly underneath him.

“Scout ahead?” she repeated in disbelief, “Surely they’re not _coming?_ They can’t what if they’re hurt—” 

_“_ Have no fear Miss Baggins,” Thorin said, “your _boys_ will be perfectly fine I’m sure, they will meet back with us soon enough. Now, if we’re done messing around - move out!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter, I found it very hard to write the final scenes when Bilba tells Thorin about his death and I actually had four separate versions (including this) for chapter 10 as it was just wasn't coming together right. For those of you who wanted Bilba and Sting to be reunited, it finally happened ;)
> 
> Thank you all so much for the kudos and reviews, seriously never expected the story to have such a great response as the plot was just bothering me.
> 
> Also, I've had a few messages on my Tumblr saying that making fan art and fan fiction as Bilbo as a female is homophobic, seeing as in canon Bilbo and Thorin are both male. So I just wanted to say that I, in no way, disapprove of same sex relationships and if anyone is offended by this I really do apologise! I write and draw for fun and accept pretty much any pairing be it m/f m/m f/f etc.


	11. Travel

Just as Thorin said, Elladan and Elrohir meet back with the Company an hour after sunrise with reports of a clear path. They smile at Bilba and enquire about Sting.

“It is good to have it back again, I didn’t realise how much I’d missed it—“ Bilba tells them, remembering the sharp pang of loss when Frodo had returned and told her how Sting had been taken from him in Mordor. It was not the only thing he lost there, his innocence and peace of mind to name just two, leaving him waking up during the night shaking and sweating and screaming. 

They complement her on how well her ‘Letter Opener’ fits with her new elven cloak and leathers and Bilba sits a little straighter in the saddle, admiring the work. She supposes she looks more the part of adventurer now, much better than her soft shirts she’d brought from the Shire. To make room in her pack, they’d been left behind in her old rooms, promised by Lord Elrond to keep them safe for her return, whenever that may be. Though if she’s honest they’re little better than rags.

Having the ponies to ride away from Rivendell will shave days off their journey time to the Misty Mountains and allow Gandalf extra to catch up should he need it. They have been instructed to wait for him in the foothills and none are truly eager to disobey him this time. From there, having sent the ponies back to Rivendell, they will continue cautiously on foot, Bilba’s stories of Stone Giants made them all look rather queasy. She intends to enter Goblin Town somehow and retrieve the Ring, hopefully it will be without being captured and loosing all their supplies.

Elladan and Elrohir ride either side of her at the front, where the Company can keep an eye on them. Their horses being much taller than her placement on her little pony Myrtle means they have to bend their necks and look down at her most of the time though they do not seem to mind.

There is still some tension between them all, and each interaction she has with the dwarves is coloured with a nervous sort of waiting as though she’ll suddenly snap and kill them all in their sleep. 

She wouldn’t do that of course. 

Though if Nori keeps making those bawdy remarks with Bofur about her fondness for Elvish Blades, she may practice her swordsmanship near them and trip. Accidentally of course. 

 _Honestly_ , she thinks, _how are they still going?_

“Oh aye,” Bofur chimes in with a rakish grin, “an elvish blade never dulls either - _last a good long while_ —“

It would be a terrible accident of course. Lots of tears and plenty of blood.

“But what about the _muscles_ \- I doubt elves are as well defined as Dwarves…” There is chortling and even agreement from the others who start to talk about their magnificent hairy chests and how all elves must be terribly cold and bald.

“Bald as coots! Do you reckon they’ve got any hair down _there_ or maybe they’re bald there too…”

She can just imagine it now…“ _I’m so sorry, I don’t know how I managed to stab them both! The groin you say - oh dear - but they’ll live? Oh good I’m so relieved…”_

“They might even shave it off!”

Before Bilba can even roll her eyes she hears yelps of pain and Dori’s angry muttering at them both about propriety, manners and how their journey is not the place for such lewd talk.

“s’not lewd Dori - only talking about elvish swords of course…”

“and the rest…” Bilba mutters.

“—our king’s got one himself—“ Nori cuts off abruptly when Thorin whips about in the saddle to glare at him, the thief giving a roguish grin in return. “I’ve handled a few elvish blades myself…”

 _And that is definitely not a conversation I want to listen to,_ Bilba thinks. Though she is amused enough to chuckle when she sees Elladan and Elrohir’s fair skin was flushed a pale pink, eyes a little wide.

“Do you think Gandalf will catch up in time?” Bilba asked the brothers, swaying with the gentle plod of her pony Myrtle’s steps, trying to ignore the story of how Nori ‘accidentally’ entered what he thought was an inn.

“And a lovely time I had there too—“

“Nori if another word comes out of your mouth in the next two hours—!” Dori threatened.

“That depends.” Elladan said a little too loudly, “on whether he’s going to tell Saruman about _it_ or not. Radagast gave him the Blade, but it’s likely that he won’t do anything again - Saruman spends far too much time in Isengard fiddling with his staff and doodads.”

Now it was Bilba's turn for her eyes to widen and mouth to gape. “ _What_?”

“—I mean his potions, what did you - _oh Valar_ I did not - that’s just…”

Elrohir’s eyes watered and teeth were bared in a grin meant to clamp down on the laugh that wanted to burst forth. His voice trembled as he spoke, “It’s alright brother, your interest in Saruman makes things much easier for me to pursue Lindir—“

Bilba prayed quickly to the Valar to give Lindir strength, she had wondered why Rivendell’s Steward had been so tense. Though if they were leading him on she was going to have _words_.

Elladan leant over the top of Bilba to thump his brother’s arm “Shut up! It’s not funny! I didn't mean it like that—“ Elrohir lets out a loud, full laugh at his flustered appearance and shocks the Dwarves into wide eyed stares. These two have managed to shock the others. 

Jovial, smiling elves! Surely they thought the world would be remade before such a feat was achieved. 

“Let’s just forget it and talk about something else!” Elladan scowls, pushing his horse a little faster.

“I don’t think so…” Elrohir sang.

Bilba let the sibling teasing go on for a little longer though put a stop to it when she could see Elladan was beginning to get into a strop. “Alright, that’s enough now. How about you help me brush up on my Quenya, I feel my accent needs a bit of adjustment…”

Bilba sews gold and silver coins into the linings of her new clothes, making secret pockets to store her more crucial items and even secret stashes of Lembas for emergencies. The money the twins give her to hide in the linings is from the chest they’d taken from the Troll Cave and they apologise at least once a day for keeping their possession of Sting a secret during her stay in Rivendell. They dine on stew and tough meat, saving the Cram and Lembas bread for when they are truly desperate. 

They make camp quickly and once she’s finished helping Bombur and Dori with dinner she sets up her bedroll beneath the branches of a nearby tree. She is just close enough to the fire that Gloin and Oin have made to be warm, and leans back against the bark, letting her fingers trail through the grass that surrounds her.

Though it had scared her a little during her first lessons with Elrond and Gandalf, her appreciation has grown for her newfound abilities. There is a tingling from deep in her bones when she reaches out to run her fingers through grass or smell a sweet flower. It is a song and soft sigh that sounds in her mind when she uses the warm trembling energy that collects in her chest to make the world around her bloom lush and healthy. It now seems strange that she was never able to do such things before, it feels as though a part of her that she didn’t know was there has suddenly revealed itself, bright and eagerly reaching up and outward as she fosters her new talents.

The grass thickens between her fingers making a soft cushion against the hard ground, and almost without realising it, she’s thinking of it spreading out underneath her bedroll, coiling around itself and twisting to create a thick carpet of soft grass that can almost compare to the beds at Rivendell. She is getting better at it, pushing herself to do more, though after each practice she feels as though all her energy has been sucked out of her, seeping into the grass she’s grown or flowers she’s made bloom. 

Now, feeling a wave of fatigue wash through her Bilba’s eyes droop and she yawns widely, sliding down to lay on her bedroll with almost incomprehensible ‘good nights’ to the Company. She is asleep within seconds.

*****

She has been kind to him, though she had no need to be. He thinks he may have scared her before, or even died like his King and Princes, because she has gone out of her way to be nice to him - even befriend him this time. 

**_The sounds of battle are deafening and the stench of the dead and dying makes his head swim…_ **

She is his friend, and he hers. It is a shame she cannot learn Iglishmek as it is a secret to those who are not Dwarves or Dwarf-friends. Perhaps when she is forgiven the King will name her Dwarf-friend and she can learn it. It would be good to have a proper conversation with her rather than using his cousins for translators.

**_There is so much pain, his arm is broken and he is bleeding from cuts and scrapes all over his body. He aches down to his very bones but he cannot stop, the battle is not won, they are loosing…_ **

Bifur thinks the Hobbit is nice and he can sense her warrior spirit. She seems determined to protect them all.

**_He is too slow, tired and aching the way he is, and another orc tramples over the slain bodies of its kin to reach him._ **

He decides to make their Hobbit some nice arrows to offset the flimsy elven ones her quiver carries. Bifur looks up from the sleeping Hobbit, drawn to the bark. He thinks perhaps his eyes are playing tricks on him again. It is not the first time Bifur has seen faces where they had not been before. No one else seems to have noticed either, it must be just him. The eyes are clear amber orbs, the nose a small cut off branch and mouth a shallow crack in the rough surface.

**_He fights._ **

He stares until Bombur hands him a bowl of stew for dinner and he puts thoughts of the face out of his mind.

**_He falls._ **

In the morning when they break camp and leave, the tree Bilba had slept beneath, opens its mouth wide and groans. Bark slides over the amber orbs in a strange blink and the branches creak and shift as it slowly rises out of the ground and begins to walk on thick twisted legs.

*****

He notices the way the Company looks at him now, admiration and a hint of awe. He hates it. Thorin feels as though he has done nothing to deserve such looks. It is something that has been jabbing at his thoughts ever since the twin elves had told the Company a fuller version of the truth. They had still left out his death though, and his nephews. There is more to it than that, he knows.

Again, he thinks, the Hobbit is hiding something. 

“Dinner, Thorin.” Gloin approaches handing him a bowl of stew. 

He notices, and he has noticed often, that his bowl is much fuller than the rest. He nods his thanks as Glojn moves back to sit with his brother who is speaking with the twins on Elvish medicine. Though they are wary of the elves the Company has grown closer since their departure from Bag End. Bonds have been formed and they all mix with each other more readily. It is a bond that has grown stronger by their encounter with the Trolls and hardened in the flames of knowing what is to come. 

He sighs, _what is to come indeed…_

Thorin eats slowly, staring down into his bowl as if it holds all the answers, he knows what they have been doing since they left Rivendell. Without speaking of it, Dwalin and Balin have made it perfectly clear that should they be attacked, they will fall before their king. Dwalin has taken it hardest - even now he stays close. The thought that he had not been able to save his king weighs heavily on his mind, even though Thorin knows it was not his fault. Fili and Kili are being coddled also, noticing their confused but pleased expressions when they receive their meals just after him, their bowls fuller than most. They are given places to sleep closer to the fire and their preferred watches when it is their turn. Bombur, Bifur and Dori have taken to placing themselves behind or just in front of them, like Balin and Dwalin do for him. It is natural he thinks, for the others to be so protective of the youngest members considering Bombur has children of his own, Bifur and Bofur their uncles and Dori having practically having raised Nori and Ori herself. 

Though he is pleased his nephews are being looked after, this preferential treatment will make them soft, and they need to be strong if they are to survive what is ahead.

Ori comes to collect his empty bowl with a smile before leaving with Nori to help wash their things in a nearby stream. Ori is far too young to be on the quest, and so are Fili and Kili. In an ideal world Thorin would have stormed Erebor with an army and overwhelmed the dragon, unfortunately, it is not an ideal world, and this is what they have. Thirteen Dwarves who only now know what trials lay ahead because of a Time-travelling Hobbit, a wizard who seems overjoyed with the news and planning (though is as secretive as ever) their next steps and Lord Elrond’s two sons, Elladan and Elrohir. The elves are a new addition, and are acceptable — for elves. Their unusually open and mischievous demeanour will endear them to the company sooner or  later he is sure.

It is almost as if his eyes have a will of their own, and as usual, seek out their burglar. She is practicing her ‘abilities’ again and though he will not admit it, he finds it fascinating to watch as she lays her hands flat on the ground, eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration. The earth moves under her palms, small vines and flowers reach up between her fingers and every now and then she will open her eyes and laugh softly in delight before trying again, the grass thickening and growing around her in determined spurts. They snake upwards in the air, softly swaying around her as though she is the wind and the sun and the rain all at once. The Hobbit’s freckled skin almost glows as she leans down to take a deep breath in and smell the cluster of small white flowers she has grown.

Thorin looks away sharply when he realises he has been watching her for too long and sets up his bedroll, muttering goodnight to Dwalin who watches him lay down on his mat with narrowed eyes. Turning away from the still chattering Company, his back warmed by the fire and stares out into the night. Though he is ready for sleep, he cannot rest and so he thinks, rolling events that have passed and what is sure to come again in his mind. 

Her story is almost too fantastical to be true. Smaug dead and Erebor reclaimed, Dwarves of Erebor and Elves of Mirkwood holding a truce and the Ravens returning to his people in the Blue Mountains with news of their victory, announcing that they can finally come home. 

He wonders about Dis. His little sister, though she is not so little anymore, ruler of the Dwarves of Erebor in his stead while he is away on a quest that could kill him. 

_Did kill him. I_

_t killed Fili and Kili too._  

Thorin grits his teeth and yanks his blanket up so it covers him. By Aule, how Dis must have felt when she found out. Her brother and sons all dead, only she remaining. He wonders how she would have found out, by Raven, or in person? Had Balin or Dwalin been there to share the bad news, did she cry, scream, yell? Did she make the journey to Erebor or stay in the Blue Mountains? Had Fili and Kili survived the last time, and if it had just been he that had died, Dis may have forgiven him by the time she joined him in the Halls of Waiting, though it is not likely.

Regret drums a sickening beat in his stomach as he hears his nephews laugh behind him.

He may as well have killed them himself, and for what? A few golden coins and a chest of starlight gems? There is something about the Hobbit’s speech that doesn’t sit right with him, producing a churning in his stomach that usually occurs from eating something too spicy.

Charging into battle in ‘ _golden armour_ ’, she had said.

There are few sets of gold armour made in Erebor, primarily for decoration or ceremonial purposes such as coronations, coming of age and Durins Day celebrations for the king and heirs. Gold is a soft metal, easily shaped and bent in comparison with that of Steel. He hates to think of what had driven him to make such a poor choice in armour when facing thousands of Orcs, Goblins and Wargs. The answer he knows already, with anger and disappointment and fear mixed all into one, it is something he has felt with a cold terror since he saw the decline in his Grandfather. 

 _I will ask her_ , he thinks, _when there is time and we cannot be overheard._

He prays that it is not the Gold Sickness that takes him in the end, but a soft, mocking voice at the back of his mind tells him that there is no point to asking her, he already knows his fate.

Before Thorin falls into an uneasy sleep his words fall softly from his lips. 

“I am not my grandfather.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to let you all know that I've entered the Hobbit Reverse Big Bang on Tumblr (signed up as an artist and my final pieces are almost done - drafts are up at the moment http://fatynthemachine.tumblr.com/post/94731150664/my-draft-sketches-for-hrbb14-so-bilbo-was if you want to take a peek) it's something I've been thinking about for a while, and once DBNU is finished I might even write my own version of the prompt :)
> 
> I'll try to stick to the fri/sat/sun thing I've got going on and maybe even draw some stuff...


	12. Getting Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a beast. Just to warn you.

Gloin has already had a conversation with his brother, Oin after breakfast. They communicated through Iglishmek as if had they spoken it aloud, Oin’s hearing being what it is, would have given them away. With a quick nod to each other Oin and Gloin trot up behind Miss Baggins and force their ponies between the elves bracketing their Hobbit. Because time-traveller and elf-friend or not she is still theirs and Dwarves have priority over snooty elves.

It surprises Bilba but she smiles at them nevertheless and asks how they are.

“I’d be better if the ground wasn’t so rocky,” Oin says, his voice loud as always but not yet a shout as everyone whispers their own conversations to hear better.

“Oh…well I could grow a bit of grass underneath you, if you wanted me to that is, like how I’ve been doing mine?” Bilba offers, in her lap is a wreath she’s been practicing with and when she concentrates the flowers bloom and close, bloom and close…

Oin nods. “That’d be appreciated lass.” 

Bilba smiles and looks forward again, the tension in her back receding slightly as she runs her hand over the braided stems of flower and grass and leaf she’s twisted in there.

The company now ride in silence, knowing all is not yet done. Gloin is yet to speak and his eyes are narrowing with a look of determination.

Of course they all should have known what line of inquiry he would go for first. 

“Gimli!” he suddenly says and Nori’s groan is stifled by Ori’s mitten covered hands clamping down on his mouth. “What was my son’s role in all this?” Gloin’s fierce glare is enough to turn anyone’s bowels to water - truly, it happened once when they were travelling to the Iron Hills once to visit kin. 

Their Hobbit is made of sterner stuff though and instead of being scared all she seems to be is amused. 

“I had wondered when you were going to ask,” Gloin sputters at this, drawing back as if to deny his wife and son are all he talks about, or defend his rights to speak about them. “It’s not a criticism, I heard from my nephew that throughout their quest that he spoke just as much of you as you did of him.” Gloin stops short at that, mouth closing and his cheeks turn as red as his beard, he looks proud. “He was one of nine to accompany my nephew on his journey. Two men, four hobbits, a wizard, a dwarf and one elf” her eyes took on a mischievous glint, “…Legolas with whom he became quite close…”

*****

Bilba talks about Gimli the most as they travel, the others have stopped feigning disinterest to listen and ask questions openly. They are at first surprised at the friendship between Gimli and Legolas but as Elladan and Elrohir also contribute what they know they all laugh about the insults and slights thrown between the two and become invested in the tale of friendship.

In the days and nights that follow Bilba begins to feel relief that the tension between them all is fading. To help her practice her abilities she makes those who ask a thick palette of grass and moss to sleep on and she shares with them stories of her life in the Shire, especially those with little Frodo. Fili and Kili both lament that they hadn’t stayed in the Shire longer, wanting to meet the tiny-hobbits who are prone to stealing pies and making mischief. Their laughter is more relaxed now, telling them how Frodo had stolen back all her spoons Lobelia had taken while visiting one afternoon. It had been another ‘talk’ about her duties toward her Baggins relatives - particularly her and Otho - who would be more suited to Bag-End than she as Bilba had no husband or children.

“ _It is simply far too big for you dear - me and Otho on the other hand need the space…”_

_“I have Frodo” Bilba had replied, the steel in her voice unmistakable, “and that is enough for me. You can say nothing that will persuade me to change my mind or Will and I ask you not to press the subject further—good day!” Bilba guided (pushed) Lobelia out the door and slammed it shut, clenching her teeth and fists and shutting her eyes and shaking her head, wishing she could scream in frustration but knowing that Lobelia was probably still outside the door—_

_“Aunt Bilba?”_

_Bilba opened one eye to see Frodo looking up at her, his dark curls were getting rather long…_

_“For you?” holding out his hand Bilba couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her lips and the tension slipped from her shoulders - in his hand were three silver teaspoons, two forks and a knife._

_Bilba scooped him up in her arms and littered his face with kisses making him giggle. “You are a wonder, my little Burglar…”_

“Mahal - I’ve never even met the woman and already I dislike her.” Dori grumbled.

Bilba laughed “She’s not so bad really, just incredibly annoying and entitled. Though to be fair she’s great fun to rile up.” she nudges her shoulder to knock gently into Dori’s. The Dwarrowdam doesn’t move an inch, it’s like hitting solid rock, but she smiles anyway. It’s nice, being friends with other women that don’t judge her for liking adventure stories or scrutinise the way she eats or sits or speaks like it is in the Shire.

Their conversation later turns to the differences between Hobbit and Dwarrow fashion and the different styles they have for each season and from where they import their cloth. This then moves onto tea making which leads to meals.

“B-but _seven_ meals a day! Where do you put it all?” Fili says aghast, his expression is mirrored by all those who have been listening. Which is everyone. Dwarrows are just as nosy as Hobbits apparently.

The seven meals a day does not seem so strange to her, though she is a Hobbit so she supposes it doesn’t count. “Hobbits have very high metabolism you know, though I suppose if you put all our meals together it would probably be the equivalent to three large meals, we just need to space it out. A hungry Hobbit is not a happy one.” she told them with an amused smile, telling them how grumpy Frodo used to get if she was late with any of his meals. Though honestly, his pout was adorable and she could never resist his beautiful blue eyes for long. “Then there’s the fact that Hobbits are _very_ good at cooking. Recipes are guarded fiercely and each family have their own signature dishes. The Tooks favour curried meats and hot spicy dishes; because they travel more than most they can pick up foreign ingredients and food easier and it’s been incorporated into their recipes and adapted as they’re passed down. Now the Baggins side of my family favour pastries, both savoury and sweet. Oh, my Great Grandmother Baggins’ sausage rolls are to _die_ for! When they come out of the oven the pastry breaks up and melts in your mouth, the meat is tender and juicy and she does something with herbs that makes all the flavours so much stronger—“ her mouth is watering as she thinks of it Bilba lets out a little sigh and licks her lips, she can almost taste it! The others all seem to be lost in their own dazed imaginings, Kili is drooling.

“Burglar.” Bilba’s head shoots up to find Thorin standing the other side of the fire looking at her and swallows audibly. “We need more wood for the fire. Come with me.”

With some reluctance she pushes thoughts of golden pastry and tender meats from her mind, murmuring that she’ll ‘be right back’ and gets up to follow Thorin into the tree line. These are the first words he’s spoken to her in days and she finds she’s missed the almost-friendship they’d had before Elladan and Elrohir had told the Company everything.

_Not everything_ , she thought, _now he knows he, Fili and Kili will die too and that is my fault._

They do not speak much, Thorin collecting much larger and heavier branches than she. Though there was already a sizeable pile of logs to see them through the night it has gotten colder and they’ll need this if they’re to ward off the chill. They will reach the bottom of the Mountains tomorrow and begin the terrifying climb upwards. Bilba hopes Saruman does not detain Gandalf for much longer, as if the Stone Giants decide to fight again, they will need him.

“I would…”

Thorin stills and she can see his frustrated expression.

“Yes?” Bilba stops and waits for Thorin to speak, clutching onto her sticks and branches tightly, pressing them against her leather armour.

He seems to collect himself and his spine straightens. He frowns at the trees around them, tall and spindly and covered in needles. “I would have you speak of the time we reached the Mountain—I have noticed from your retellings you are leaving bits out.” he looks over his shoulder and there is something in his eyes that makes her chest tighten - tension and a little something that looks like resignation, the same look he’d worn when she’d entered his stuffy tent to see him lying pale and still on the cot, blood seeping through the freshly changed bandages as he struggled to breathe.

“… _I would take back the words I said at the gate…if more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold…it would be…a merrier world…”_

“I did not want to upset anyone.” That much was true. “It would have been demoralising for the company to hear such things.” she says softly, her face as grim as Thorin’s voice. They know it is nothing good they will speak of now.

“Then do not let them hear of it. Speak only of this to me.” Thorin says and she can hear the order in his words, though she hesitates. “Tell me. Did I fall to the Gold Sickness?” when he sees her face fall his mouth becomes a grim line. “I see.” Thorin lowers his collection of logs to the ground and walks away to sit on the trunk of a fallen tree, he rests his elbows on his knees and Bilba stands frozen as he buries his face in his hands, shoulders hunched. “Tell me how it starts so I know the signs.” he asks her, tiredly. He looks as though he has given up already.

Her heart is beating painfully in her chest and Bilba thinks there is nothing sadder than seeing their usually firm, strong leader look so beaten. It almost compares with the pain of seeing him so still in the eagles claws. It is the same pain she felt as she stood back with the elves and men, watching as the Dwarves returned their fallen kin to Stone.

Carefully Bilba puts her twigs and branches down beside Thorin’s pile and moves over, gingerly sitting beside him.

“It came on slowly.” Bilba begins. There really was no point in softening or twisting it for him, it’d only be seen as another ‘lie’ and truly he needed to know. Perhaps this preparation would save him from falling to it a second time. “At first we thought it was just because we were getting so close to our goal - it was understandable that you were deeper in your thoughts the closer we came to the Mountain. You were quick to anger, and pushed us harder across the desolation.” Bilba felt sweat bead on the back of her neck and palms grow clammy as she spoke, the memories playing behind her eyes, no longer seeing the forest, but the burnt husk of Dale and the barren ground that was once rich farmland, forest and lush grass filled fields. “When stories were told around the fire it changed from happy childhood memories and amusing stories to estimates and endless discussions about the wealth and the gold and gems that were waiting for us inside.”

She had much rather preferred listening to the stories of which halls he’d hidden in as a child or which parts of the mountain they would repair first. In these tales there was warmth and hope and expectation. 

“It was difficult to listen to,” she admitted “but we were all stressed and nervous so it didn’t really register then.” Thorin did not move from his position, hunched over as he was, the only sounds now were that of their breaths, small puffs of mist forming in the cooling air. “We found the door and I went in, you all wished me luck…I came back with a golden cup, just to prove that I could do it.” her hands tightened in her trousers and she laughed mockingly. “I went in again to search for the stone, but Smaug had woken up and we spoke and he saw me…when I returned without the Arkenstone you raised your sword and would not let me pass - you demanded it, even as I told you Smaug was coming and you did not care…” Thorin let his hands drop and sat up stiffly, expression creased in his usual frown. “By then you were not yourself. It was better when you had a focus - seeing Smaug, hearing him roar brought you back a little but by then he was awake and there was nowhere we could go, we were going to die…”

Bilba spoke of their run to the Guard room, finding the bodies of those who had fallen, trapped and unable to get out. 

“And then you said ‘If this is to end in Fire, then we shall all burn together’…and I thought, as strange as it was, there was nowhere I would rather be. I was terrified, hungry, tired but I had travelled further than any Hobbit in recent memory, seen so many wonderful things…I was with my friends and I felt that it was true. I wouldn’t mind.” Thorin looked at her confused and angry and eyes clouded with self loathing. “Go ahead, tell me I’m stupid,” she muttered dragging her feet back and forth in the dirt, quietly pleased when gras grew around her soles and began to spread across the floor. He didn’t say a thing, just stared at her until she continued. “We eventually made it to the Forges and you taunted Smaug into lighting the furnaces - it was completely mad and the heat was so intense and I’m sure my heart was in my throat the whole time - you rode a barrow through a river of gold for goodness sakes— we had no idea what you were planning“ she huffed, amused despite the rather grim tale she was about to tell. “Eventually you managed to fill the mould of your Grandfather in the Hall of Kings and lured Smaug there. You let the unset golden statue collapse onto him - the gold only downed him for a moment before he was flying out to destroy lake town.”

Thorin’s voice was low. “But - Fili and Kili…”

Bilba nodded, “—were still there, yes.” remembering the sheer terror that had turned her body to ice. “Oin and Bofur were there too. It was only when you had no reaction toward Balin reminding you that they had remained behind in Lake town that we knew something was wrong.” Bilba told him grimly. “You ordered the others inside to build up the defences at the door Smaug had broken through. We waited, and two days later there was still no sign of him, a Raven arrived and told us of his death. How he was shot down with a Black Arrow by Bard grandson of Girion of Dale.” Thorin allowed himself a small ‘hmmm’ and nodded for her to continue. 

Bilba took a deep breath and her expression turned grim once more. This would be the hardest part to tell. “After you were sure he wasn’t coming back - everyone went down to the Treasure Halls and began to search for the Arkenstone. You rarely ate and slept even less. Any effort I made to draw you out was useless and the gold was even beginning to affect the others. By the end of the week you had refused to leave and what little food you did eat was brought to you there. Some of the Company were able to resist, I drew them out by mentioning something important to them like Gimli to Gloin and asking Bombur about his wife and children. It was difficult when I was alone but when the others came to their senses they helped. Gloin pretended to be injured by the collapse of a tunnel which made Oin, Bofur and Bifur leave for a while. Ori was lured out by the promise of finding the library together though he soon snapped out of it, Dori followed quickly by Nori and Dwalin…you were the last to leave but it was only because of the Elves and Men that approached.” Bilba let out a heavy sigh and her shoulders slumped, looking at Thorin from the corner of her eye. “Of course, you know the rest. The debacle with the Arkenstone for barter and my banishment—“

“Enough—“ he said roughly, and they both knew they were thinking the same things. 

_Large finger sized bruises forming black and blue and purple around a pale throat, hands clawing and a curly haired Hobbit gasping for breath as she was held over the edge of the battlements._  

“I cannot…” 

Thorin grits his teeth and looks away, hands clenched into fists on his knees. “Why are you helping me again? It seems from what I have been told all I had done was chide and belittle you for your soft sheltered ways and then later threatened to kill you — you have no reason to help us.“ 

_Because they are her friends. Because she loved them all, wanted to see them happy and back where they belonged. They were going to get through this, didn’t he see? It was a chance so perfect and now they all knew they could take steps to prevent the future from turning out the same. They could live. Thorin could be king. He could see his people come home—_

Bilba’s hand came to rest over his clenched fist, her hand so much smaller and softer than his was warm against his skin. The touch was so light it was barely there, and then, when he didn’t move away pressed firmer against his fist. Her thumb began to smooth gently over the ridges of his knuckles, back and forth, in such a simple motion that was so soothing and confusing Thorin wanted nothing more than to sit here all night if only she didn’t stop or break this sudden truce that had sprung up between them. They hadn’t sat so close or spoken like this since Thorin had sat on watch and Bilba couldn’t sleep so joined him. It had been shortly before they encountered the Trolls.

Bilba felt she should say something profound, the moment was heavy with expectation. She could say something weighty and important…

“I was sure you had a greater mental capacity Master Dwarf, you held your grudges so well after all, but if you can’t remember what I said back in Rivendell then I’m afraid you’re beyond hope.“

_What in the whole of Arda had made her say such a thing_? she thought horrified. _What was she thinking?_

She felt relieved when all Thorin did was scoff at her. “I remember”

“Well, you remember I said you deserve to be king? Yes, well I take that back.” 

_Oh dear, maybe she should just stop talking? Get up and walk back to camp before Thorin decides he should actually save himself some trouble and finish you off right now._

It seemed her mouth had other ideas and it all just kept coming. “Oh don’t get in a huff about it - I wasn’t very well put together. I was quite overwrought - you tend to have the most alarming affect on me, propriety, respectability and my indoor voice are thrown to the winds. Riddling with Dragons and fighting in battles? Most improper.”

_Yes Bilba just confuse him more, good job!_ If only her parents could see her now. Her mother would be in stitches and her father would roll his eyes and Bilba would obviously turn bright red…

“I was wrong then and I know you doubt me, I would too.” she says, desperately hoping she won’t manage to mangle her words up so completely that Thorin interprets it all wrong— “I mean, I’m probably not what you expected - make that definitely - and I often think of Bag End and my books and my armchair, but that’s my home. I don’t know what I’d do if it was taken from me, probably the exact same thing as you…fight, and fight and fight until we got it back I suppose.” she can feel his eyes on her but Bilba doesn’t meet them and keeps looking out into the trees. “And that’s the reason I came along, because you don’t have one…a home, and I will do everything in my power to help you take it back.” 

Her words seemed to settle him somewhat, removing the disbelief from his eyes. “You inspire such emotion in all those you follow, it was just hearing you sing that first time in my living room that I decided that an adventure was just the thing I needed.”

_Not to mention those broad shoulders…_ she was sure her mother was crying with laughter now. Thorin didn’t pull away or jump as though he’d been shocked so Bilba could happily assume she hadn’t said her thoughts out loud this time. She hoped.

They sat still for a while until she shivered. It was quite cold and no one would blame her if she shifted a little closer. There could be no harm in it and Thorin seemed to radiate heat. It was only fair really.

She shifted closer on the log, their arms brushing and hand still resting on top of his, thumb brushing his knuckles. 

It felt nice to sit here just him and her, she looked almost fondly at her hand on top of his. Surely he would shake her off soon, their truce probably wasn’t strong enough to be sitting so closely. But he was just so _warm_. It seemed odd that it felt like she was back in Bag End. The feeling of being content with how the day has turned out, resting on her bench in her little garden, smoking her pipe as everyone wound down for the day.

“Did we often do this? You and I?” 

Bilba looked up and realised she was much closer than she’d thought. Bother. She felt the soft fur of his coat brush against the side of her face. 

She fought an embarrassed flush. There was nothing improper about this. Of course not. They were just friends and he needed some comfort after what she’d shared this evening. “Sometimes,” she admits quietly. “During evenings at Beorn’s while I helped Oin patch you up and through Mirkwood so I wouldn’t fall behind - the Forest felt awful to me, Hobbits having such a connection with all that is green and growing and it was very sick.” Dwarves were far too fond of bashing heads and fighting rather than having a nice cuddle. She met his look with a small smile. His eyes had always been piercing, but in her memories they’d dulled, nothing compared to how they now seemed to glow with a light of their own. How could she have forgotten something that seemed so important? It would be hard to imagine Thorin without his blue eyes, he would look odd she thought, with eyes of green or brown. “Laketown I became ill and you were all rather grateful that I was able to get you out of the dungeons so shared your coat with me.” There was surprise in Thorin’s eyes. “It was all because I’d killed that Orc remember? When I stood between you and Azog till the Company charged in and the Eagles arrived? Had I not charged out there in the first place I doubt you’d have come to like me quite so soon.”

“Had you not charged in I doubt I would have been _there_ to like you.” Bilba had never felt so odd, pinned by his stare and feeling as though he could look right through her. Then Bilba realised she could count how many eyelashes he had if she wanted to.

Goodness, they were close weren’t they?

Thorin’s voice was low, rumbling through his chest as it usually did as he spoke and her chest felt tight with something that felt like _anticipation_ as his eyes drew slowly over her face. “Did I—did I ever—“

The sound of heavy boots thundering through the undergrowth made them break apart with almost comical stumbling, scrambling to stand and look as though they hadn’t been so close. Thorin drew his sword and Bilba followed hurriedly, her cheeks pink.

Fili and Kili burst through the bushes, out of breath and grinning.

“Gandalf’s here,” Kili breathed, excitement tangible as he beams at them. “—and you’ll never guess who’s with him!”

“Who’s with Gandalf?” Bilba frowned when Kili’s voice finally registered, “I thought he was coming alone?” 

She hoped desperately that it wasn’t Saruman, she hoped that the wizard would be able to resist the darkness until she had destroyed the Ring - if he was here and in such close proximity too…

“No,” Thorin says and he sheathes his sword and sends a heavy frown at his nephews. “Tharkun has asked another along as a Guide.” 

Well, Bilba can’t see Saruman volunteering for that role - especially not for a Hobbit if he doesn’t know what they would be seeking.

Thorin doesn’t look at her as he stalks over to their collections and scoops his load and hers up in his arms easily. He is tense again, his emotions closed off and he orders them back to camp. 

“But we don’t need a guide” Bilba protests quietly to Thorin, almost skipping in order to keep up with his strides. “Elladan and Elrohir can get us through Mirkwood and now I can say I’m there to help heal the Forest—I thought that was the plan, Thorin?“

They stop at the edge of the camp, the Company are all standing, clustered around Gandalf, the newcomer and their two mounts - even Elladan and Elrohir are there, chatting away. They would certainly not be so chummy with the White Wizard Bilba thinks with relief. 

Thorin looks at her, voice tight and Bilba finds it hard to believe only minutes ago they were sat closely on a fallen tree and talking quietly like friends to one another. “The guide is not for us… _the guide is for you._ ” 

All relief and good feeling gone it suddenly feels as though all the air has been sucked from her lungs and the floor is shaking beneath her. Her expression must truly be pitiful because she can see the remorse in his eyes as he turns away. The wood they’ve gathered clatters loudly as he dumps it beside the fire and stalks over to set up his sleeping mat for the night though the sound is dull in her ears, everything but his words has lost clarity in her mind.

She stands at the edge of the camp frozen, and he does not look at her.

It seems their truce is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd upload it a day early because of all the great comments everyone's been leaving on the fic :D 
> 
> Any guesses on who 'the guide' is???   
> :D


	13. Separation

**Chapter 13 - Separation**

They move away from the camp, just outside the circle of light generated by the fire, where Gandalf explains the plan. It is a plan they have made without her, perhaps they had known she would disagree and it is why she has been kept in the dark. 

Gandalf speaks to her, a mixture between anger and pleading, in an effort to get her to see reason.“If you have truly seen what is to be then you will know how important it is, loathe as I am to do it Bilba Baggins, I assure you it was no easy thing!” he kneels down to her small height and holds on one handed to his staff to keep balanced, the other he places on her shoulder. “You are as dear to me as any other I have ever known which is why the guide I have brought will keep you as safe as you can ever be considering your destination.”

“Then I shall be dead before we even reach the black gates.” Bilba replies stonily, looking into Gandalf’s weathered face and feeling sick to her stomach. Her _guide_ is tending to his horse, still cloaked, while the rest of the Company have returned to their seats around the fire.

They had been her friends. Her companions! They had ate, slept, fought and bled together, she had only done kept the truth from them to keep them safe - as Gandalf had instructed even! - and now they had organised for their separation. It has hit her as hard as a kick to the gut.

She couldn’t keep them safe if they were apart!

“I can’t Gandalf. They need me—”

“Bilba you must—“

“And I need them!” she looks at Gandalf desperately, “please I have to go with them, I would never forgive myself if anything happened and I could have stopped it.” the wizard looks as though he is going to give in - there has always been something about Hobbits that he loves and it is rare he is ever able to deny them. “I cannot help if I’m not there - please Gandalf!”

The Grey Wizard’s face is grim and sad as he looks at her, speaking gravely. “Would you go with the Company, save them, only to watch them die later, Sauron having returned because you did not destroy IT when you had the chance?” Bilba shakes her head and gasps out a no as tears fill her eyes. “I know you are vital for the Quest to succeed Bilba - I have arranged—“ Gandalf’s eyes are grim and narrowed as he looks out into the dark, his voice going lower and speaking in Quenya, so softly she can barely hear it. “ _I have arranged for passage for you and my guide via the Eagles of Manwe.”_

“ _But Gandalf,_ ” she replied softly in the same tongue, Elladan and Elrohir have been helping her practice. “ _You said the Eagles of Manwe were not to be used in such a way…”_

_“From what you have told me of Frodo - and my fight with the Balrog of Moria - you said my last words were ‘Fly you fools’ it is possible that I meant to arrange for the Eagles to transport the fellowship then, but they failed to recognise my intentions.”_ he speaks soothingly to her her, though the topic is anything but. _“You will not head for the Black Gates - there is another way into Mordor, secret and very dangerous but should you succeed the Eagles will bring you back safe and sound, hopefully before Durins day - I have been assured their fastest fliers will take you there and back as swiftly as they can. No more than a month each way, perhaps even less if they are as swift as they say.”_

Bilba knows it is the only way they will ever be free of the Ring. Most Hobbits caring little for money and power. Being concerned with the simpler things in life have made them more resistant to the vices of other races. Her heart is heavy as she accepts and Gandalf’s eyes twinkle sadly as he clasps her arms in his hands and brings her close for a hug. He smells of Old Toby and fresh spring rains, smoke and so much like home that Bilba cannot stop the few tears that have escaped. He holds her close, hand stroking through her curls and murmurs promises that he could not possibly keep.

That she will come back.

That all her Dwarves will be there to see her again.

Bilba pulls away with a sniff and wipes her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “Come on then,” she says, trying to sound brave though her voice wavers, “lets see what poor sod you’ve guilt tripped into coming along, shall we?”

Gandalf huffs softly and stands, his knees cracking loudly, and he mutters something about getting old. Bilba can’t imagine Gandalf ever being young, it seems as though he has and always will be the aged wizard she sees now. He had looked no different every time he visited Old Took, as though like the elves, he existed outside of time. She follows him over to the cloaked stranger, the ground where she steps grows green with thick grass and buds of small flowers appear, ready to bloom in the morning.

“Bilba Baggins, may I introduce you to your guide,” Gandalf says as the tall figure turns and lowers his hood. 

The elf is like many others of his kind, flawless, graceful and heartbreakingly beautiful, though there is a danger about this one that is more carefully concealed in others, and he does not care to conceal the soft glow his skin emits.

As he bows his long blond hair falls forward in a shimmering wave of gold. 

“Glorfindel of Rivendell, at your service my Lady.”

*****

It’s a tearful goodbye to the ponies and Bilba offers Myrtle an apple before she leaves, amused at the others complaints.

“Why couldn’t I have been the Hobbit’s Pony!”

“I want an apple too—“

“Not fair—“

Bilba pats Myrtle’s nose fondly and assures them that there will be apples aplenty at Rivendell. It is with great surprise that the ponies nuzzle her fondly before they trot away till only Myrtle is left.

“Send for me, when you have finished your journey little one,” she murmurs, “I feel life with you will be far more exciting than being back in the stables.” 

“By excitement you mean danger don’t you?” 

It is strange how Bilba can see her pony is smirking even if she looks normal to those who cannot hear her. “It’s not every day that a Pony from Bree gets captured by Trolls, chased by Wargs and rests in elvish stables.”

Bilba huffs but smiles fondly and nods, patting Myrtle’s neck before her pony is dashing off toward the others, returning to Rivendell.

She turns to find the others have already started walking, only Glorfindel waits for her, his heavy oiled cloak covering the shine of his armour. Her smile is half-hearted at best as she begins the long trek upwards, her new Guide following easily behind.

*****

There is very little in the Mountains, a few straggly weeds and sharp hardy grass that refuses to die, growing stubbornly from cracks in the rock and sticking straight out of the mountainside. They sleep uncomfortably on the path with rocks digging into their backs and pressed as far away from the edge of the mountain as they can get. Whenever she looks over the edge, accidentally or not, the sight of the sheer drop makes her stomach churn and hands shake. 

_They couldn’t hear her - she was loosing her grip - she was going to fall! Rain made the mountainside slick in her grasp and her arms burned with the effort. She was going to die here, so far from home - she should have stayed in Rivendell…and then…_

_“Where’s Bilba?”_

_Thank the Valar for Bofur!_

_Her voice was drowned out in another clap of thunder. She kept yelling till finally they heard her. “I’m here! Down here!”_

_“Hold on—“ well it’s not like she wanted to fall to her death “—I can’t reach—“_

_A strong hand grasps the back of her pack and hauls her upwards, Bilba is pulled back onto the path shivering and shaking with the shock and turns to see Thorin being pulled up by Dwalin and Gloin._

_“For a second there I’d thought we’d lost our Burglar!”_

_“She has been lost ever since she left home—“ the words cut through her like a knife and she flinches away from the King’s harsh glare, “she should never have come, she has no place amongst us…”_

Whenever they stop for rest, when the darkness obscures the path and not even the Dwarves can see, Bilba picks the stones and grit from the soles of her feet. She cleans one or two small cuts that have appeared and sighs as Elladan and Elrohir plop down beside her. Carefully, as though not to startle her, they each reach around to present the boots they’d had made for her in Rivendell.

“I’m going to look stupid.” she says, though it is truly a half hearted protest. At least these boots have been made to measure. “No Hobbit has ever been seen wearing shoes—I’d be exiled from the Shire if word ever got out that I’d worn _boots_.”

“I’m sure your Took cousins would understand…”

“Well they’d be the only ones.” she huffs, glaring at the tan leather abominations held in front of her.

“We won’t tell anyone,” Elrohir says gently.

Elladan wiggles the boot he’s holding and smiles winningly. “Come on, they’re really not that bad, you can take them straight off as soon as we get out of the Mountains, promise…”

She wears the boots.

The air gets colder and thinner the further they travel upwards and Bilba is forced to wear her second cloak over her first and fasten all the clips and buttons. From behind she looks like a chubby Dwarfling, her features obscured by the large hood. They have come across a few empty caves, Gandalf stopping to inspect them before shaking his head and moving on. There are one or two caves that are occupied that Gandalf inspects and gives his approval on. The first cave they rest in is occupied by a testy mountain Lion. Gandalf chats to it for a while as the rest of them wait outside on the path, cold and wet and shivering in the rain.

“I could kill you all,” it purrs and Bilba’s hand clenches tighter around Sting’s handle, the dwarves go for their own weapons. “You’d all keep me going for a long while - it saves a lot of effort leaving my cave to hunt…”

“Ah but you won’t—“

It’s long sharp teeth glinted in the dim light. “And why is that?”

“Because!“ Gandalf says cheerily and tips his staff down to gently tap the creature on the head, the crystal glowing brightly. The Lion’s eyes immediately start to droop.

“ _How dare you_ —“ a low growl rumbles through its chest as it sinks back down to the floor and begins to snore, trapped in a deep sleep by Gandalf’s magic.

“I don’t much fancy meeting my end by being mauled…” Bilba holds Sting tightly as she approaches. It snarls suddenly in its sleep and she jolts backwards, Gandalf’s hand coming down to clasp her shoulder firmly and stop her from toppling over. “Rude…”

Though it was still pouring outside and they had no better options for rest the Company looked about to refuse. A flash of lightning and rumble of thunder so loud it shook the stone beneath them made up their minds and grumbling, they settled down to sleep.

Because there were so many of them, and how dreadfully cold it had become they slept piled on top of one another, curled up and twisted in each others arms and legs in an attempt to stay warm. Glorfindel had offered to keep watch for the first half of the night while Gandalf took the second, their forms lighting up at the mouth of the cave as the storm flashed and crashed around their heads.

It was still the middle of the night when the whole mountain seemed to shake and Bilba woke up, eyes wide and heart pounding, it took her a minute to remember where she is before realising she can’t move at all.

Fili and Kili have each claimed a leg, their long hair and beards (in Kili’s case - stubble) are tickling her legs where her trousers have ridden up and there is nothing she wants to do more than itch them. Which she would, if Ori and Elladan hadn’t each claimed an arm for themselves. She tries to wriggle out of their hold, attempting to find a better position in which to sleep but her efforts are for naught. Her Dwarf and Elf limpets simply cling harder and shuffle closer to her, making it utterly impossible to move. She will be smothered by them soon enough.

“Well this is cosy,” she mutters half-heartedly, her voice almost lost in the heavy gush of rain that is battering the mountain.

When she tries to fall asleep again she becomes aware that her nose needs scratching - desperately. As she cannot move her arms her only solution is to turn and scratch her nose on something else. It’s mildly successful and it eases the itch somewhat but then it comes back and she scratches it again on the rough tunic Elladan wears—

A large callused hand lands on her head, the rough palm covering most of her face and she freezes. Her warm breath bounces back against her skin as she waits tensely, unsure whether the hand will remove itself or she’ll have to do it herself.

“Be still.” A gruff voice orders. She can’t tell who it is, all the Dwarves sound so rough and grumbly when they wake that it’s almost impossible to tell.

“Get your hand off my face!“ she almost _growls_ when the hand taps her face, and her protest is muffled by the thick fingers pressing her lips closed. She stills again.

“I had an itchy nose!” she hisses when they let go, though the hand is still resting on her head. Bilba wriggles her head until the hand removes itself and she can breathe normally again.

“Don’t move. Sleep.”

Bilba grumbles under her breath about personal space as she glares up at the rocky ceiling of the cave, listening to the thunder until she eventually falls asleep.

Their second cave (which is not a Goblin trap - thank Yavanna) is damp. The walls are covered in a strange mushroom that oozes a grey paste when picked or cut. Or when falling against it. Ori laments that her knitted garments will never be the same and Bilba ends up giving the upset Dwarrowdam her second cloak and is given a shy thank you from Ori and pat on the shoulder from Dori which may have left bruises. Nori smiles at her and as thanks, allows Bilba to snuggle in between Dori and Ori and bats away the clingy grip of her elves and Fili and Kili who tend to cling on to whomever is closest in a death-grip. 

Sadly sometime during the night Bifur has a night terror and accidentally sets off a whole shelf of the mushrooms into spewing their thick grey paste and they wake, shouting and drawing their weapons, pushing each other in the small space, covered in gunk and under the impression that they’re under attack. Of course, this sets off more mushrooms and in the end they are all covered in the stuff.

It is worse than Troll Snot.

They leave the cave early, and grumbling, set off again.

The Company stop about mid-day when the path splits in two. The first will slowly start to decline and lead them out of the mountains, the other, is a sharp and curving track that goes down and down and down. 

The air is heavy and humid, the sky is thick with clouds and the air sharp in their lungs. 

“This is where you leave us, my dear.” Gandalf says sadly, “The secret entrance is a short way along the lower ledge there - there is a false wall in several places that will allow you to enter.” He reaches down and prods a section of the rock just beneath the ledge with his fingers. What had looked to be solid rock wobbles as though it is merely a plank of wood painted to look like stone. “Most of the Goblins will be resting. Even deep in their mountain the sunlight makes them sluggish and tired so do your best to be quiet, I know you can do it. It is at night when they are most active and you must be out well before then if we are to all get far enough away.” 

Bilba nods shakily and Gandalf slowly kneels down, joints creaking as he pulls her into a hug. “I wish you safe and speedy travels, my friend,” Gandalf murmurs into her hair, “We will meet at Beorn’s once our business is concluded of course. Glorfindel will keep you safe.” As the wizard stands Bilba turns to the rest of the company, chewing on the inside of her cheek with nerves.

They look at her with a mixture of grim determination and concern and Bilba feels her throat tighten. 

_Be safe, please._ _Keep them safe. Don’t let them die._ She prays that the Valar can hear her.

It’s almost impossible to draw her eyes away from Ori’s worried face or Fili and Kili’s wide eyes or even Dwalin’s stern I’m-scary-not-kind glare. She doesn’t know what to say. What _can_ you say when you’re about to head into Goblin infested tunnels to fetch the One Ring?

“No heroics you hear me?” she manages to choke out when they’re about to leave. “You stay alive and stay safe - all of you, or you’ll be sorry when I get back!” There are tears in her eyes when she’s pulled into hugs and though they grip her a little too hard. Her back is slapped and patted with more force than is necessary but she endures it because this could be the last time she sees them. She prays none of them do anything stupid. Wishes of good luck and safe travels and Bifur grumbles out farewell in Khuzdul and she’s breathing hard with the effort not to burst into tears. Elladan and Elrohir kneel down and embrace her tightly, they say nothing but their eyes promise everything.

_We’ll look after them. We’ll keep them safe._

She finally looks at Thorin who has stood back while the others have said goodbye. Thorin nods at her stiffly, eyes piercing and stern as ever. “May those who stand in your way know the pain of your blade.” he says gravely.

“And the same to you,” she replies softly “though if they have any sense they won’t stick around long enough to find out.” No one says anything for a moment and Thorin nods, shoulders his pack and Dwalin follows. It’s stupid of her to think he’d hug her goodbye like the others. She wishes he had.

As they turn away she gives them all one last look over, trying to burn the sight of her Dwarves into her mind.

Glorfindel stands by her side, tall and face determined as the Company begin their walk again, Gandalf sends one last look over his shoulder at them before they disappear around a bend. They are gone.

“Come Bilba,” Glorfindel says lowly, “we must move swiftly now.”

*****

In places, the path, which is barely a path at all, disintegrates and she has to scramble for purchase on the next solid shelf of rock. She has fallen once, though Glorfindel was there to catch her, it is not something she wishes to repeat. 

Wearing her boots she is far too loud against the crumbling rocks and gravel though she cannot take them off just yet - when they reach the secret entrance she will remove them. It is a time when she’ll need as much stealth as she can get.

At times she finds Glorfindel looking back at her with a worried expression on his ageless face. She feels as though her innards have been scraped out and all is left is a hollow shell.

“I will keep you safe, I swear it.” he whispers, so quiet that his words are almost lost on the wind.

Glorfindel stops at a bare wall of rock and nods at her. Carefully Bilba sheds her boots and wraps them in her pack before nodding back. She is ready. Sting glows dully in its sheath. Had she drawn it the Goblins may have been attracted to the strange glow and she cannot have that. Her throwing knives are sharpened and ready, two in each of her hands.

The secret door slides away with a quiet hiss and grinding against the stone shelf below. The opening is slim, just wide enough for them to slip through and shut just as quick. It is dark and the ground beneath her feet is cold and sharp pricks of energy run along the hard soles of Bilba’s feet. It is uncomfortable and announces the presence of Goblins nearby, similar to the heavy thump and shooting pains she felt when the Company were attacked by Trolls.

As Bilba’s eyes adjust she can finally take in her surroundings. They are standing in a roughly hewn passage, bones and chunks of broken rocks and gravel litter the floor and the air is foul and muggy, a stench of waste and rot lingers in the air. To her right is a dead end, meaning they can only go left - the glow of a torch casts an orange haze at the end of the walkway and she can hear the faraway chatter and screeches of Black Speech being spoken.

Glorfindel makes signals with his hands - forward - down - lead on - and Bilba takes over, bending into a low crouch as she walks soundlessly on. Glorfindel guards her back, the ever-present glow from his skin has gone out and now burns soley from his eyes. They are like two pinpricks of light in the dark, shining like stars.

It is fear she feels when they look cautiously out into the orange glow. Thousands of Goblins are above them, few are below, balanced or lazing about on rickety bridges and hissing and spitting at each other is Black Speech that oozes to her ears and sends a trail of slime down her spine. 

It is difficult, she has no idea where to go to find the Ring - to find Golem, except _down_.

Any movement at all on the wooden bridges is rickety, they swing and sway and creak under even the smallest goblins weight. They would surely be seen, especially Glorfindel who stands head and shoulders (even hips and chest) above the rest, though cloaked, his stance, gait and perhaps even his shadow would give him away. Bilba on the other hand is darkly cloaked like he and much shorter, her curly golden tresses have been pulled tightly back against her head in the bobtail she usually favours and if she stooped a little bit, huddled in her cloak and kept to the shadows she may not be seen.

There is a rickety wooden bridge straight in front of her, leading to what looks to be a large wooden platform around which other bridges and levels are arranged. If she squints hard enough she can even make out a large seat - and even larger creature sitting on it - the Goblin King, clearly.

They are just to the right of where they should be. 

_Down_ , she gestures to Glorfindel, D _own and left_.

He pulls her back hard against him and back into the shadows as two Goblins hobble past, their rotting teeth bared in what could possibly be a foul distortion of a smile.

They come to the silent agreement that the bridges are not a good idea. Far too unstable, noisy and they would surely be caught. Their only option is to keep to the shadows and slowly (hopefully) climb down the rough walls to the lower levels. 

Bilba and Glorfindel share a determined nod and slip from the shadow of the tunnels to the dark grey shelves of rock that make up the rough inner walls of Goblin Town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's late, I've moved house and lost my phone so it's been quite stressful, there may be some mistakes and I'll likely do another edit later. Hope you all have a better weekend than me!  
> also saw this theory online and thought why not http://www.tickld.com/x/this-guy-just-changed-the-way-we-see-lord-of-the-rings-mind-blown 
> 
> Goblin town for real next chapter...
> 
> EDIT: I've made one or two minor changes to make it flow a little better. I've also found my phone so I'm feeling much better :)


	14. The Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's descriptions of violence and death in this chapter, I don't think it's /too/ graphic but proceed with caution...

Bilba was sure some Goblin blood must have entered her mouth while she and Glorfindel were fighting. Though it was something she’d never forget, it was still surprising and sickening how far blood could spray when a throat was cut.

It had been a tense descent, scrambling down the rocky walls of Goblin Town, and had she sat down and thought about it - relaxed somewhat - she was sure the pain in her hands would be excruciating. 

The first lot, a trio of mangy goblins, had spotted them on the wall a short way from the ground so Glorfindel had grabbed her and jumped. They didn’t have time to hide the bodies - there was nowhere - and ran hurriedly through the winding roughly hewn tunnels that wormed their way underneath the rickety wooden bridges and creaking platforms.

The feeling of getting closer was building in Bilba’s chest when they encountered the second lot of goblins. Something was going on. They were armed properly this time and clearly excited, practically trembling with glee, and then, when she and Glorfindel were spotted they shrieked with delight. 

Bilba used up all her throwing knives and was then forced to draw Sting. It cast their ugly faces in an erie blue glow making the shadows around them seem all the more menacing. Bilba lunged, stabbed, slashed and parried. She was good, and Glorfindel was even better but the group of Goblins was large and just when she killed one, two more took its place.

Drums sounded overhead and loud clanking symbols and the clash of metal seemed to heighten the Goblins determination, the energy humming through them made them quick and Bilba barely managed to evade the spiked club swung her way. She lunged again and Sting slid easily through skin and muscle as the Goblin bit back a screech and lurched away, falling to the floor to be stepped on and over by the others eager to fight them.

*****

Had the situation not been so dire, Gandalf might have found their plight quite comical. 

Did the Goblin King seriously think that banging a few drums and making threats of torture could loosen their tongues? Well, starting torture with the ‘youngest’ was not something that would endear Dwarves to you. Children were more precious to Dwarves than the finest of gems, blood feuds and wars had been started for less.

It was easy enough to kill the Goblin King he supposed, far too fat to be agile and he made such a large target that Glamdring easily met the rolls of flesh hanging off of the monster. He seemed surprised but should not have been. Though Gandalf did not find pleasure in death or destruction, the death of a foul creature such as this did. Though it wasn’t for long. The cavern was still, and then, shouts of rage echoed so loudly that his ears rang.

“Get down.” Gandalf said simply. The Company dropped.

Light filled the cavern.

*****

Glorfindel had distracted Gollum by playing at being ‘lost’ while Bilba looked for the Ring, slipping about the cavern with nary a sound and keeping to the shadows, her eyes sharp and searching for a glint of gold amongst the rocks.

Gollum’s high voice carried through the cavern, echoing off the wet walls and bouncing down to Bilba as the creature asked Glorfindel a riddle. “What has roots that nobody sees, is taller than trees. Up, up, up it goes, and yet never grows?”

Where was the Ring?

“A Mountain.” Glorfindel replied confidently.

What if Gollum didn’t have it any longer? No, that would be ridiculous - he left the caves to look for it the last time, surely he would not be here if someone had been in and taken it before her…Bilba shivered. Now wasn’t _that_ an awful thought.

“Good! Good! Ask us, ask us!”

Bilba looked and looked but the Ring was nowhere to be found, and then, she heard it. A soft whisper at the back of her mind and a cool tingling spread through her fingers.

_Put me on and disappear…_

There! Amongst a pile of blankets in what Bilba assumed was Gollum’s bed she saw it, a soft wink of gold though there was scarcely any light to be found in the dim cavern.

_I can help you keep them safe…pick me up and put me on…_

It’s as though time moves ten times slower as she reaches for it, all sounds and sight have narrowed down to this one point and it is as though she is hearing things from underwater, all blurred and distorted.

_THIEF THIEF!_

Bilba looks up and Gollum is running, so close to her now, hands forming claws and six teeth bared in an angry snarl as it promises to kill her—

She reaches for Sting, knowing that even as her hand closes about the hilt she will be too late.Even as thin and spindly as his arms and legs are, he runs quickly on all fours, faster than she would ever be able to get away. 

Why has time seemed to slow like in a dream? From the corner of her eye the Ring glints at her. 

In the back of her mind, a high cold laugh sounds as she draws Sting from its sheath.

_Too slow, too slow!_

Above the dull roar in her ears the hiss of finely forged steel breaks through the haze. Then, there is a gurgle.

She would have been too late. Dead perhaps.

“Don’t look.” Glorfindel says above her and Bilba slowly nods, turning to look at the Ring lying on the pile of blankets.

Is it a disservice to not look upon what was once her kin? From what she remembers, Gollum would have been a Stoor Hobbit…but then she thinks of his gaunt body, sallow skin stretched tightly over his bones and hunched form as he describes to her how he will eat her when he has won their _game_. She remembers how Gollum tricked Frodo and turned him against Sam…no, she decides. He is kin no longer. 

He is _alive_ no longer.

Bilba focuses her eyes on the ring and slowly removes the silver chain from her pack, ready to carry it. It is quite pretty. Would be pretty, if she hadn’t known what it was. It had been pretty… _precious_ to her once.

As Bilba slides the ring onto the chain she hears the smooth swish of water as Glorfindel pulls the little boat towards him. 

She does not see how Glorfindel looks sadly down at the creature, or how he gently slides the still body into its little boat and piles it with rocks.

Clink. Crack. Crick. Clink

Bilba fastens the chain of the necklace.

The water parts smoothly as the little boat floats out to the middle of the lake.

She slides the curiously heavy chain over her head and tucks the Ring and chain beneath her clothes.

The water bubbles and gurgles as the little boat sinks, swallowed whole by the dark water.

The Ring croons softly to her in the back of her mind. _I am yours…yours…yours…_ Bilba had not expected the Ring to have such a strong effect on her, it was only in her later years that the other voice had started to sound in her thoughts. 

_I can help you keep them safe…All will bow to you…_

It seems to know she can hear it, crooning softly in her mind, promising riches and power. She has never wanted any of the things it promises but it croons so sweetly to her that she cannot help but listen. Is there a way to shut it out? Perhaps some enchantment or spell Gandalf could perform to make her deaf to it. The whispers are tendrils that twist about her mind like foul creeping vines, and she the pillar in which to allow them their hold.

She does not see Glorfindel as he turns and frowns at her kneeling form. She has not moved away from the mess of blankets on which Gollum slept.

_Put me on and disappear…put me on…put me on…_

It winks.

Promises.

She doesn’t know when but her fingers have begun to stroke the golden band that lies heavy beneath her clothes and against her chest. It is awful and she hates it.

It looks like such an innocent thing and she is sure it would be just the right size. The way it speaks to her mind, calls and coos and whispers such _dark_ things makes her stomach clench in fear. She has to destroy it.

_No you don’t…you can put me on and sneak away - follow your Dwarves and keep them_ **_safe_ ** _…_

She can’t. She mustn’t.

Something touches her shoulder and before she knows it her knives are in her hands and she is slashing at the air all around her, the grip tightens and something inside her is yelling out, fighting against the voice that croons softly to her - _Fight fight, it wants to take me, don’t let it, I belong to you…_ it is so loud in her ears now! Her wrists are clasped tightly in a large hand and she stills.

The voice of the Ring hisses and fades.

“—lba—Bilba…Bilba!”

Glorfindel shakes her roughly and her knives drop from her nerveless hands as she comes back to herself. She looks up at Glorfindel, he seems worried, and concern shines brightly in his face. Finally she blinks her sore, dry eyes and winces as they sting. He watches her closely as her mouth open and closes soundlessly while she searches for words, the sting in her eyes is gone now, replaced by wavering lines of salt water that gather at the bottom of her eyelids.

“I am well,” she croaks eventually. _Forgive me._

Glorfindel draws back and suddenly she is aware of the silence all around them. 

The drums are gone, the screeching has stopped and the air is still. The prickling presence she can feel in her feet and hands has dulled. What happened to all the Goblins?

“We must leave now.”

Glorfindel takes her hand and they begin walking, out, she assumes though she feels too guilty to question Glorfindel’s sense of direction. Every few moments he will turn his nose up into the air and sniff before either continuing on or turning down another of the winding rocky tunnels. He seems to know where he is going.

As they walk, Glorfindel leading, sword out and ready for battle at any moment, Bilba feels even more useless than she does already. Obviously she would have died had she gone in alone. Without Glorfindel she would have been dragged up to the Goblin King, killed in the tunnels or even food for Gollum. Sure she killed a few goblins but it was Glorfindel who could kill three at a time with just one swing of his sword. It was Glorfindel who had saved her from falling from the cliff, Glorfindel who was going to get her out.

_What use are you…_ the Ring whispers in her mind and her shoulders droop. Perhaps he would be better off without her.

Glorfindel squeezes her shoulder and she looks up, his skin glows in the dull caverns like a beacon and his eyes bore into hers. “Enough of that.” He says as though he knows exactly what she is thinking. “Without you we would be lost” he gives her shoulder another squeeze and she straightens. Of course, he’s right. She has a job to do, Dwarves and Elves and Men to save - even Hobbits.

As they walk Glorfindel is a strong, warm presence at her side. His determination gives her strength and she forces herself to keep up with his quick pace. They will be out of the tunnels soon and back with her Dwarves. The thought gives her strength as they push on. 

She cannot hear the voice now.

Toward the end of the tunnels Bilba stoops and sometimes she has to crawl - Glorfindel wriggles through the gaps on his belly and she finds it such an odd sight. She even smiles a little bit at the look of frustration on his face when he gets stuck, though she tries to hide it when he looks up at her. 

In her mind Bilba makes plans for what she will need for the journey. Clearly they will need much Lembas bread to make it all the way to Mordor, but perhaps, on the way back they can eat something more substantial than the tough elven biscuit. _I must speak with Gandalf also—_

Smoke. So lost in her thoughts she’d almost missed it. The smell was thick and cloying and burned her nose and made her eyes water terribly. 

To her surprise it is everywhere, smoke and fire, and the pain is back. Not the shooting, prickling pain that the Goblins give the earth but an ache that drives into her very bones. The pain is so intense for a moment that she grits her teeth hard that they creak against one another in her mouth. 

_What is it?_

Then, underneath that, she can feel something else. Little shoots and dry grasses - she can feel them all - a tree uprooted, moaning low through the earth as its branches snapped and roots tore. Pain. Agony. _Help_. Then she knows. She remembers tasting ash and wiping soot from her face and the heat of the fires when they burn her soles as she races toward Thorin, toward Azog who’d just given the order to _kill_ …

Glorfindel calls out her name as she slips from his grasp and runs forward, toward the smoke and fire, toward the pain and cries for help. She follows them all, the ache becoming stronger, reeling as a rush of hot air hits her from the secret exit of the caves. 

The heat is all around her. Waves and waves of it, pouring off the earth and coiling up into the sky. There is shouting - her Dwarves! Gandalf! Elladan and Elrohir! She stumbles through the opening and her eyes sting against the thick smoke that blows toward her, forward, forward, she steps over the body of a dead orc, arrows through his chest and eyes and keeps going - she knows where they will be - straight to the cliff and then, through the smoke and flames, she sees Thorin’s unmoving form and an Orc coming toward him, blade raised high in the air and ready to swing. Dejavu hits her like a bucket of icy water. She can’t allow it to happen. Not last time, and certainly not this time!

For the first time in what seems like hours, her mind is clear and her body knows what it’s going to do even before she does. Sting is drawn and held in her left while she removes her throwing knives and readies them in her right. She feels Glorfindel arrive and stand behind her, sword drawn, and looks up at him grimly, he seems relieved at the clarity in her eyes as he looks at her. 

She nods at him, turns and throws her first knife. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third revision of this chapter - the version you're seeing now was written before I went to uni this morning :O Saying that hopefully I'll be able to get updates out once every two weeks (every week if I have enough time and inspiration) I seriously love my course but it's VERY intense. I've already made my first animation (in a group) and have my second coming up fast (on my own this time :O) but it's actually amazing and I've made some great new friends!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck by this fic through its sporadic updates and I can't thank you all enough for your support through my tumblr (fatynthemachine), through comments, kudos and bookmarks! I doubt I'd have gotten this far without your encouragement ^.^
> 
> EDIT: I've made some adjustments to the chapter which I think will improve it overall so Bilba doesn't seem so OOC as before. I'd just like to thank everyone who left a comment before the edit with their feedback both positive and constructive and helped me decide on the edit for this chapter. I think it flows a little better now and hopefully you do too...


	15. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you read it you'll see why this scene took me so long to write...
> 
> Just so you know, Violence and blood in this chapter...

It was just a glance, a second really, to take everything in. She could easily recognise the silhouettes of her friends through the smoke and flames.

Ori’s small knitted shape had borrowed Dwalin’s Warhammer and was currently in the process of mangling an Orc as Dwalin swung his axes at a furious pace, cleaving and cutting all over the place while Balin made cleaner movements as he gutted an Orc that came too close. Bifur was going berserk while Bombur and Bofur had wide eyed but determined looks. Fili and Kili of course were fighting side by side, completely in sync, much like Nori and Dori who were battling together - trying to keep too many Orcs and Wargs from getting through to their younger sister. What was most surprising (or not at all) was that Gloin and Oin were fighting alongside with Elladan and Elrohir, shooting arrows into the air while Oin and Gloin finished them off when they faltered.

She wasn’t sure how, but looking at the Orcs and Wargs snarling at battling with her friends made her think of her father’s lessons on dandelions.

It was funny in a almost hysterical kind of way.

_“Bilba my girl,” he’d said, looking at her with a serious expression that seemed to speak of something more important than dandelions. “This dandelion is a problem - while it’s pretty it’s still a weed - and if I leave it in my garden what will happen?” he asked her._

_She’d blinked up at him, not yet ten with dirt smudged across her nose and tilted her head. “It’ll grow and spread unless you pull it up.”_

_“Correct!” Bungo praised, “but what if I don’t get all of it up. I just take off the head and stem? What then?”_

_“Err, it’ll grow back?”_

_“Yes! Yes it will - it’s because of the roots. However, if it spreads that means it’ll choke all the other plants. You can take the head and stalk off but the roots are still there and it’ll come back again and again and again until you’re rid of them.” She eyed the innocent looking plant with a frown and her father chuckled. “But don’t worry - just remember to get rid of the root and the plant won’t be able to grow back anymore…”_

Perhaps they were right to call her mad Baggins after all, if she was about to compare Azog the Defiler to a dandelion…

Right, well, time to do some weeding.

The pale orc snarled something foul in Black Speech and turned his White Warg to face her, large salivating jaws snapped viciously, the beast almost couldn’t contain itself as she ran as fast as she could toward it.

Azog readied the heavy mace and his skin grated against the rough metal as he bared his teeth and grinned. Surely seeing her as easy prey.

Bilba crouched making it look like she was about to leap and took a step back, readying Sting.

  
Bilba was moving on instinct now, all the lessons the company gave her in combat blurred in her mind but there was one that stuck out. “Run if you can avoid the fight lass, duck and weave and prance about if you can’t. You’re light and quick and if anyone can confuse someone else whether it be by words or actions, it’s you…” It was good advice and Hobbits were practically made to go unseen. Being so small they were often underestimated and the fact that Azog did nothing more than raise his Mace high above his head and wait told her a lot. The Warg beneath him was more of a problem.

Bilba ran forward - he swung - she dodged— darted to the side and then underneath the Warg’s head, it’s sharp teeth missing her by an inch as she slammed her knees down and skidded beneath it’s throat, sword out, slashing and digging strongly through the Warg’s pelt and skin as Azog’s mace, large and heavy, slammed down with too much force to stop, crushing the Warg’s skull.

The warg collapsed and Azog lurched forward, almost unseated by the movement, his metal claw digging deep into the dirt to stop himself from falling.

It was as though someone else was controlling her body, barely aware of her bloody knees and twisted ankle as she turned and rose, leaping up not the back of the Warg behind Azog. With all her might, she raised Sting high in the air and stabbed hard into the back of his thick neck.

Bilba knew she wasn’t strong enough to push it all the way though her sword was sharp. She pulled it out with a yank, breathing heavily in the smoke clogged air, sneering when he toppled sideways and hit the floor with a heavy thud. All around her was still. Then, she heard yells and shouts of Khuzdul and the clang of swords. Her dwarves rushing up to meet the rest of the Orcs and Wargs that had come with Azog, angry that their leader had been felled by such a small creature and screeching for her blood.

Glorfindel appeared almost immediately at her side, cleaving an unfortunate looking Orc in two with his long sword. He would not let anything hurt her.

Instead of joining the fight she staggered over to where Thorin lay, eyes closed, face a bloody mess.

“Thorin, wake up, please, you have to get up.”

The nasty little voice of the Ring sounded in her mind. He’s dead…dead dead.

A snarl to her left made Bilba turn, Azog’s eyes were open and his face twisted in fury as he gurgled something at her in Black Speech, black blood seeping through his wormy lips and staining his rotten crooked teeth in a grim ooze. Somehow the Orc was still alive. “Thorin you’ve got to get up. Azog—“

By the grace of the Valar, Thorin’s eyes opened, his brilliant blue eyes were dazed and confused. “Bilba?”

Relieved beyond words she carefully slides her arm underneath his head. “Just get up Thorin, I’m going to lift you now, don’t worry—“ he seemed to be slipping away and his eyes were closing “—do it for your grandfather, Thorin…” She hauls him upwards and puts everything she has into lifting him and supporting him - he’s trying to help - but he’s still so heavy wearing his mail and furs. Her ankle screams in pain and her back protests until suddenly Thorin seems to become lighter, lifted up by someone or something other than herself. She looks down and could have wept in relief. Vines have sprouted from the ashy ground thick and strong and woven together to support Thorin’s back. She would have time to examine the potential of this later, but right now, before an orc or eagle decided to get in the way and take this opportunity from them, she could do this for Thorin and then Azog would be one less thing they had to worry over. Feeling the whispers of the vines and the steady thrum of energy coiling in her chest she commanded the vines to wrap around them both, intuition guiding her rather than skill.

They stumble forward and the pain crashes over him in waves, he is trying to contain his gasps behind gritted teeth. Now Azog is in Thorin’s view he seems a bit more lucid. It has to be quick, they need to get him away and healed, god knows what Gandalf did last time but she was sure Thorin moved a little easier than this. She’s still half holding Thorin up but they can’t finish the job without a sword - Orcrist lies several feet away and she can’t let go of Thorin without unwinding the vines and she is sure she’ll collapse under his weight if they do.

You did it once, you can do it again…

Bilba concentrates hard, imagines the vines sprouting from the ground and wrapping around Orcrist— _Thank Yavanna!_

Vines lift and bring the sword to her and she presses it into Thorin’s cold hand with a desperate look that must be half-crazed. “Hold it,” she tells him, looking straight into his eyes and sees the pain there. She squeezes her hand around his own to help him. Thorin looks at her dazedly but nods, his breathing is heavy and he raises the sword above his head, her hand clasped around his to help, there’s the slightest pause and the look on Thorin’s face is as though he can’t quite believe what’s about to happen. Azog’s hateful bloodshot eyes burn into hers and she does not look away, staring fiercely back at the Orc, tightening her hand over Thorin’s as Orcrist comes down. The glowing sword slices through the Orc’s neck in one swift blow.

As Azog’s head slowly rolls away, his neck spurting thick streams of black blood onto the burnt earth, the fight seems to leave them both and the vines wilt leaving Bilba staggering under the full heft of Thorin’s bulk. The smoke is thick and cloying making her eyes sting and throat constrict and he stifles a pained cry when her arm knocks his side and she’s about to fall, arms shaking, unable to hold him up any longer. Then, she feels hands on her shoulders and someone else takes Thorin from her grip.

The screeches of eagles sound overhead and Bilba looks up to see the Company around them. Through the smoke amongst the dead bodies of the orcs and Wargs the Company switch from looking from her, to Thorin, to the snarling head of Azog the Defiler. She isn’t sure whether she should be insulted by their looks of disbelief or pleased that she could have stunned them so thoroughly it takes them a little while to yell out as they’re carried off by the eagles.

Ashes and embers stirred up by the passage of the eagles swirl around her and Bilba sways on her feet as a rush of dizziness overwhelms her. Large, gentle hands sweep behind her knees and back, smoothly lifting her up to hold her close against an armoured chest just as they are swept up in large claws and dropped to land on the back of an eagle with a muffled thump.

Her heart is beating fast and it all happened so quickly that she didn’t even have time to scream but Glorfindel looks down at her with a calm expression. His voice is soothing and gentle as he speaks to her, doing well to calm her racing heart and wide eyes. “…yes everyone’s safe - they’re all here…” Bilba wants to reply but her body starts to shut down, all energy gone, and the healing embrace of sleep is beckoning her. She makes one last count of her companions - one wizard, three elves, thirteen dwarves… _check_ …it isn’t long before the soothing beat of wings and cool fresh air of the afternoon lull her into an exhausted sleep.

She is held close to Glorfindel’s chest all through their flight, and his softly spoken words are blown away on the breeze. “You did well, my Lady”

Glorfindel looks down at the sleeping Hobbit in his arms and is glad he has come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you all enough for your support, really means a lot to me and why I worked to get this chapter out before my uni deadline - hopefully there will be time for another before work swallows my time completely, if not, after the 21st I should have a week where I'm able to write what I like! 
> 
> I also have ideas for a couple of one-shots for bilbo/thorin which I will post in a separate collection and links to it on my Tumblr (fatynthemachine) when they're done. Check out my /tagged/hobbit-au for stuff I've already posted and may write in the future ;)
> 
> Hope you have a good weekend!


	16. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit o'fluff was needed

The Shire was still buzzing with gossip months after Bilba Baggins’ rather sudden departure. She’d left with a group of Dwarves, and a wizard of all people! Most of the Tooks and several Brandybucks were delighted of course, the Baggins’ less so.

Grandmother Baggins especially was quite vocal of her opinions, but most knew it originated from her worries for her granddaughter. “I told you, I said Bungo marrying that girl would only lead to trouble - now look at what’s happened. I said didn’t I Lily - I said!” 

Of course, Bilba’s rather out-of-character actions meant that rumours shot about the Shire with such speed it was difficult for even the most eager Hobbits to keep up. That is until Lobelia and Otho tried their luck. They’d managed to get away with quite a few sets of knives and forks, tucked away in the folds of Lobelia’s skirts - Drogo only having noticed when he found the drawers almost empty after their visit. He’d even had to enlist (secretly) the help of his younger nieces and nephews to help return the silver the Sackville-Baggins’ had taken. The next time they’d appeared, Lobelia’s smile noticeably more fixed, Merridas and Fortinbras had been there and managed to scare the two off without much effort at all. When Drogo asked how the two had laughed.

“You’ve got to stand firm. They’ll walk all over you if they think you’ve got no spine!”

“Show some Baggins determination—“

“Or you could imitate your grandmother?”

“Good idea, that really would send them running!”

The two Tooks were a hive of activity. Always seeming to be making plans or arranging supplies or talking about where they’d go and who they’d meet. If he was being honest with himself, he even found it a little bit, dare he say it…exciting.

He involved himself as much as he could, between managing his cousin’s estate, attending meals (interrogations) with family and friends, and occasionally meeting the Thain for approval on funds to help manage Bilba’s lands, he was very busy. He made sure to remind both Meridas and Fortinbras to come across respectable to the Dwarves and conduct themselves with decorum. He drilled into them manners and helped keep both their heads firmly in the logical and practical rather than the fantastical daydreams both seemed to be coming up with. He even helped in the preparation of tough travelling biscuit which while didn’t taste too bad at first would become truly awful if having to be eaten every day.

In a moment of (brief) insanity, Drogo thought he’d almost miss them.

*****

Bilba Baggins lay on the grass at the base of the carrock, vines and green shoots and flowers had almost immediately grown around her, much to the alarm of the company and exasperated shhh-ing of Gandalf. The grass and vines thickened and cushioned the hard earth and stones beneath her and wrapped and weaved together above her too (only her face showing), protecting her from the cooling evening air. As far as Elladan and Ellrohir could tell, they were much farther along than they should have been at this point - perhaps still traversing the misty mountains having been thrown off course by the stone giants or only just falling into goblin town. It could also be down to not loosing their supplies the first time around (the ponies having made it to Rivendell) and having mounts to carry them to the base of the Misty Mountains which had cut their previous journey considerably. It all added up, hours, days, weeks until now where they could afford a slower pace.

Though if Elladan and Elrohir were quite honest with themselves, and perhaps a bit boastful as well, they had made the journey easier on their companions. Being light-of-foot and having crossed the Misty Mountains many times before they were experienced guides, helping make the journey a lot smoother than if they had not been there (as evidenced by Bilba’s stories of what happened the first time around). Also, while not being so stealthy as the smaller group of fifteen (as stealthy as a group of fourteen - fifteen when Gandalf decided to show up would be), the inclusion of three more experienced fighters to their party meant that they could dispatch their enemies much quicker. 

“When do you think she’ll wake up?” Elladan heard Kili ask Gandalf as they walked, his eyes nervously tacked on the wizard. Glorfindel who had insisted he carry Bilba held her protectively against his chest, her small form looking like a doll against his armour.

Gandalf looked back at Kili with a steady gaze, all too aware that it was not just Kili listening for his answer. The wizard spoke clearly and just loud enough to make it obvious that he knew the rest of them were listening. “Our Hobbit has been through quite an ordeal. Her knowledge would be enough to exhaust her, let alone retrieving it and coming to your uncles aid. Her abilities, which you have seen her practicing with often, were strained yesterday which is what I suspect is causing the majority of her fatigue.”

“But when…” Kili whined, looking hopefully at the Hobbit as though she would wake up then and there.

“When she is ready, master dwarf. To wake her now by magic or to shake her awake would be a great disservice and quite ungrateful considering what she has done.” Kili looked down at the ground shamefaced and chewed the inside of his lip, deep in thought as Gandalf continued to talk. “When Bilba wakes I will wake your uncle - I know that you are concerned for the both of them but there is no need. Your uncle will not rest if he was awake and will already be quite put out by my meddling and Bilba deserves her rest.” Kili nodded and slipped away to join Fili, completely missing the last few muttered words from Gandalf. “Eru knows she will find very little soon enough.”

In the end, despite Gandalf’s warnings that they should let Bilba wake on her own terms, it was Gloin’s shouting that pulled her from sleep. Well, that and Elladan and Elrohir’s perhaps unthinking admission that Gimli had befriended an elf and said elf’s intentions to sail with him to the Undying Lands. They had just been about to break camp and head for Beorn’s. Glorfindel had been willing to carry her again - he was just leaning down in fact - when she groaned from her grassy nest and stretched as she slowly came awake. 

*****

Glorfindel smiles above her and it takes her a moment to remember who he is, the way the first rays of sun shine on his already softly glowing skin is quite distracting and for a moment she thinks she’s dead. Then, she remembers.

“Where’s Thorin?” she croaks, her throat feeling drier than a desert, grateful as Glorfindel hands her his water skin. “Is everyone alright?”

Glorfindel smiles knowingly at her, though her mind feels too fuzzy to comprehend why and calls over to Gandalf that she is awake. Why that should be such a momentous occasion she doesn’t know either and soon enough she is surrounded by her Dwarves - Elladan and Elrohir towering over them all at the back of the group and grinning widely at her. Everyone is talking at once and she can barely keep track of what they’re saying. All she manages to make out is that she’s been asleep for three days!

“Three days? You let me sleep for three days?” she says incredulously as she gets to her feet, stumbling a little and grateful for the hands that reach out to steady her. “Gandalf what—“

Thorin is in the middle of the camp on a makeshift stretcher lying still with Gandalf hovering above him, hand running over his face and across his chest, and Bilba’s words are caught in her throat. Had she come too late to save him, did waking him and making him behead Azog do more damage to his crunched up insides? 

it’s very odd how all noise seems to cease as she moved past the circle of Dwarves. Bilba wasn’t sure whether it was because she was still so very tired or instinct that pushed her to her knees beside Gandalf but her heart was hammering in her chest and for a second she feels like she can’t breathe. 

Gandalf mutters a spell under his breath before pulling back and smiles tiredly at her. “Just a sleeping spell my dear, he needed the rest just as much as you.” as he speaks Thorin’s eyes open and Bilba’s shoulders slump in relief.

“The Halfling,” Thorin mumbles, “where is she?”

Bilba shuffles forward a little more so she is not blocked by Gandalf’s overly large form, willing to let the ‘halfling’ comment slide and says “I’m right here Thorin.“

With Gandalf’s help Thorin sits up stiffly and looks about the camp - all bags packed and ready to go, the company standing still behind her and then his eyes met hers and he has the nerve to glare at her. 

Bilba frowns back, unsure of the Dwarrow’s thoughts so she gets to her feet and crosses her arms over her chest. He does not look happy.

Not to be outdone, though he has only just woken up, Thorin gets to his feet, scowl set firmly in place and walks unsteadily toward her so they are barely an arms length apart.   
“You!” he growls, pointing a finger at her and Bilba schools her expression into looking unimpressed. “You—I—What were you thinking rushing in like that? You could have been killed!” 

Bilba’s eyebrows rise, taken aback a moment. “What was I thinking…?” she repeated slowly, quite unable to believe what was happening. A sense of deja vu ran through her. “I’m thinking I’m very annoyed with you. What on all of Middle-earth did you think you were doing?” 

It must have been her Baggins side coming out, their rants tend to be legendary and go on for far too long once they get going. “Charging off like that when I’d specifically told you not to. No Heroics I said, but do you listen? No, of course not—” She finds herself getting angrier than she’d meant to be, her voice rising in volume and she finds herself pointing back at Thorin and waving her finger like an angry Hobbit scolding their fauntling for playing too close to the river. “Obviously because t’s much more fun to Bother the Burglar and almost become Warg food—“ Thorin’s hands come to rest upon her shoulders and the words she was about to speak dry up in her mouth. “Thorin?” she says, still feeling angry but a little startled and have his eyes always been that blue?

“You—“ Words fail him again and instead he sighs and stepped closer, his warm callused hands moving up to gently cup her cheeks and she stills and stiffens like a deer caught in the gaze of a wolf. 

“Don’t you ever do something so reckless again.“ His voice is no longer a growl, but it’s low and deep and quiet and effects her far more than she think it should.

“Reckless?” Bilba repeats lowly and she can almost feel Elladan and Elrohir’s panic behind her. She ignores Gandalf’s look of utter joy on his face - completely barmy - and focuses all her stern stare on the stubborn, stupid, ridiculous dwarf in front of her. “I’ll tell you who’s reckless. For goodness sake Thorin, I’m not the one who went charging into a pack of Orcs alone and got smacked about - you could have been killed! And to tell you what I was thinking, I was thinking about saving your stubborn behind that’s what!” She’s not sure what she says next, doesn’t care frankly, because she knows that shouting isn’t going to do anyone any good so she makes her points with low, insistent arguments about she wants to keep her friends safe and how she needs to protect them but she can’t do that if they are determined to get themselves killed and…

“Thank you”

Thorin’s hands move back to her shoulders and his thumbs brush back and forth - she can barely concentrate on the words coming out of his mouth. “What did you just say?” it sounded important…

The glare is gone from Thorin’s face an in its place is the smile that had been there when they were atop the Carrock. 

“I said…thank you.” he repeats. 

Bilba blinks owlishly, completely discombobulated by his sudden change.

The company cheer behind them as Thorin steps forward and she’s sure his hands move from her shoulders - oh! He’s going to hug her! Bilba’s arms begin to move but they fall back to her sides as Thorin doesn’t move in for a hug but something else entirely—his hands rise up to cradle her face again and oh…she cant breathe - she doesn’t dare - and Bilba cant look away from his face, her gaze flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. Strangely time seems to move slower than usual as she feels the hot brush of his breath against her face. Thorin is warm and still smells of smoke and ash though the blood has wiped away and the cuts are pink and tight across his nose where he’d been hit with Azog’s heavy mace. She looks over every eyelash and frown line in his forehead, memorising each part just in case and then he comes even closer. Bilba's eyes close of their own accord and her hands rise to rest on his chest, teasing the fur of his travelling coat. 

She waits, feeling her breath catch in her throat as Thorin gently rests his forehead against hers.

The world around them seems to still. Acceptance. Gratitude. Friendship. Perhaps even forgiveness.

She almost chokes on the emotion that builds in her chest at the gesture - something between Dwarves that is saved for friends and kin alone - rarely - if ever, used on an outsider. After several long seconds Bilba opens her eyes and catches Thorin smiling at her, his blue eyes clear of pain or sadness for the moment and she smiles back.

The silence seems to last forever and then no time at all because behind her she can hear Kili’s quiet voice say “…she was thinking about uncle’s behind!” And that does it because she and Thorin break apart and she laughs, long and loud and happy, desperately trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks and the way Thorin’s eyes are soft as they watch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I'm going to see BOTFA on Friday and I needed to get this chapter out to everyone as a huge thank you and fandom group hug before I curl up in a ball and cry for 1000 years.


	17. Beorn's Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company arrive at Beorns, everyone has far too much to drink, Bilba realises something and Dwarves, elves and a wizard put a plan into action...

“I’m telling you Drogo, you’ll need this—“

Drogo seems to inflate like a balloon, looking affronted and clearly thinking all manner of cuss words. From the way he hums over his words shows both Fortinbras and Meridas that Bilba’s cousin is far too polite to say them.

“I will not — **will not** —be using this, this hook to threaten the Sackville-Bagginses!” Drogo huffs, waving the long wooden pole about to emphasise his point.

They’d only meant it as a joke to tell the truth but if Drogo keeps waving it around like that anyone could loose an eye. Or a toe if he drops it.

“Alright-alright! No hooks, we’ve got it.” Meridas grins and Drogo’s left eye begins to twitch - much like Bilba’s had done when they’d chipped one of her mother’s plates. They had been banned from Bag End for a month and it had been _awful_. Meridas’ eyes glinted mischievously, completely obvious to those who knew him that the innocent tone meant trouble. “What about a rake?”

Fortinbras barely had time to leap out of the way as Drogo let out a growl and gave chase, Meridas laughing as he easily bounded over the fence and down the lane.

Drogo turned to Fortinbras with a fierce look and the Took felt a chill pass through him.

“You take that _hooligan_ to the Blue Mountains and and don’t come back for three months at least!” Drogo said sternly. “Or better yet - leave him there! I won’t be harassed I tell you! I’ve been left in charge of Bag End, and while Cousin Bilba may have given you a job, everything you do will reflect on me. I am a respectable gentle-hobbit and I won’t have it!”

Fortinbras blinked owlishly as he finished securing the last of their supplies into the bed of the wagon. All the while keeping an eye on the hook that Drogo seemed to be clenching in a white knuckled grip, just in case. “I apologise for the actions of my cousin,” he said slowly, “I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on him while we’re away and make a good impression on the Dwarves, I swear it.”

Drogo sighs and counts from one to twenty under his breath. “I’m sure you will.” he replies eventually as Fortinbras clambers up to sit on the seat of the wagon and grasp the reins. “Have a safe journey - I will see you when you return.”

They’d managed to get Drogo to stop saying ‘If’ though everyone knew he was thinking it.

Fortinbras allowed the ponies to get a little ways down the road before shouting back — he was a Took after all…

“DONT WORRY DROGO - WE’LL BRING YOU BACK THAT SWORD YOU WANTED!” There was a stifled scream of frustration and Fortinbras urged the ponies faster, gasping for breath at the sight of Drogo’s embarrassed red face from the garden of Bag End. O _h Yavanna, he really was too easy!_

Fortinbras met up with Meridas in the market, talking to Lily Underhill who looked amused, and dragged him away from the chuckling Hobbit woman.

Meridas groaned in frustration “What’d you do that for? I was almost—“

“Humiliated, pitied, slapped?”

“Not funny, Tin.”

“Most amusing, _Merry_.”

“Well,” Fortinbras smirked, “not as amusing as Drogo’s face—”

“What did you do?” Fortinbras could not contain his smirk. “I may have mentioned that we would bring him back _the sword he wanted_ ”

“You didn’t!”

“I did…and I think he had afternoon tea scheduled with Grandmother Baggins.”

“That is cruel.” Meridas praised though he looked far too pleased himself, “and it should fit right in with the arrival of our Ranger!”

Fortinbras gasped. “Now _that_ is evil.”

“Excuse me,” said a deep voice. A long shadow fell over them and the two Hobbits looked up to find a dark haired ranger standing just behind them - though not the one they’d asked to tutor Drogo on how to swim. This man was dark skinned and dark eyed with thick ropes of hair that were bound together by dark wooden beads that hung around his shoulders. “Are either of you Merridas or Fortinbras Took?”

Meridas puffed out his chest and grinned, “That’d be us,” he replied cheerily giving a little bow. “And you are?”

“I am Uszul,” the man said bowing back, “These are for you — from Miss Bilba Baggins. All will be explained in the letter.” The ranger held out several wrapped packages and a letter secured firmly to the top. Fortinbras and Merridas took them eagerly, hurrying back to the wagon to open them without other nosy Hobbits being able to look over their shoulders at what their adventuring cousin had written. The Ranger followed, waiting patiently by the ponies, smoothing his hands down their flanks and murmuring softly to them.

Dear Cousins,

_I hope this letter find you well and that you are both not causing Drogo too much hassle. As I write this I am in Rivendell, it is a marvellous place. If you ever get the chance to visit I would heartily recommend you do so. Lord Elrond, with whom I am staying, is a gracious host and very knowledgeable on many subjects. The views are lovely and I’ve passed on a few recipes to the chefs - honestly, for such long lived beings it is surprising that they have not sampled Hobbit cooking before, or at least seen some of the recipes. However, while I am having a merry time, telling you this is not the sole purpose of this letter._

_It was while thinking upon the task I have set you both I realised that asking this of you may be quite too much for you to do alone. Not that I doubt your abilities, not at all! However, I was remiss in not giving you the proper equipment for such a venture, thus this gift is to remedy that. Inside the package you will find Lembas bread and its recipe (a tasty elven travelling food), a set of throwing knives, as well as bow, quiver and arrows each…_

Meridas let out a whoop of joy as he tore open the packaging and retrieved Bilba’s gifts, eyes wide as he looked over his new bow with delight, tracing the intricate carvings with the tips of his fingers. It took them both a few minutes to settle down and read the rest of Bilba’s letter, quite forgetting the Ranger was still there.

_…Though I know you are both some of the stealthiest Hobbits around, travelling with cart and ponies is not. I have therefore arranged Uszul to escort you to Bree where you will meet up with his partner Rhina and then travel on to Ered Luin. We leave soon to travel across the Misty Mountains and rest for a while with a Skin Changer called Beorn (a friend of Gandalf’s). From there we will enter Mirkwood which is ruled by King Thranduil. I will address future letters to reach you at the Ered Luin by either Ranger or bird (should either be willing). Also, be sure to make use of Uszul and Rhina’s talents with the bow, as all rangers are required to be proficient in bow, sword and spear. Perhaps you could commission the Dwarves to make you some though do not tell anyone I suggested it, I should like to be able to return home and collect my things before they drive me out! I wish you safe travels and good fortune,_

_Love Bilba._

_Ps - Try not to mention cutting or trimming your hair in front of Dwarves as they are very sensitive about the subject._

Though it had seemed impossible at first, the two were now even more excited about carrying out their cousin’s wishes. Fortinbras tucks the letter carefully inside his jacket and helps Merridas place Bilba’s gifts in the wagon.

“So,” Fortinbras says, sharing an excitable grin with Merridas, “to Bree then!”

*****

The temperature rises as they walk making Bilba shed as many layers as she can without being indecent, wishing mightily for the cool linen Shire shirts she’d left behind in Rivendell. They climbed up slopes and down, rested under the shade of trees and sometimes when Bilba’s stomach rumbled loudly enough that even Oin heard it, she would nibble on a piece of Lembas bread.

It was slow going considering the aches and pains the Company suffered, especially Thorin (for being chewed by a Warg) and Bilba (for throwing herself about in his defence). Bilba had stubbornly refused to be carried even though the walking was far more tiring and Thorin glared at anyone who would even open their mouths to suggest such a thing for him.

Bilba was feeling much better however. The ground was slowly turning from rocky to the softer feel of grass beneath her tough soles. The hum of life beneath her returning. At first, when she realised that the sensation and feeling of the earth moving and breathing around her was dulled, she had panicked. Gandalf had of course been there to soothe away her worries.

“You strained yourself quite a bit, my dear. I am sure it will come back in time, perhaps even a little stronger, after you have cleaned, eaten and rested yourself.”

Gandalf had of course been right, and now she was feeling a strengthening tingling in the soles of her feet. It was soothing like dipping ones feet in warm water, and the closer they became to Beorn’s home the more the feeling spread until she felt warm all over, energy humming through her skin the closer they became.

Finally they broke through the trees and Bilba couldn’t help but let out a little hum of excitement at the thought of seeing Beorn again and resting in his halls. They looked out over the beginning of Beorn’s Bee Pastures filled with cockscomb clover and purple clover and wide stretches of short white sweet honey-smelling clover. Gandalf warned them to walk slowly through the field and try to disturb as little of the wildlife as they could when he gave the signal for each pair to join him and Bilba—who would go first and spin their tale for Beorn.

The dwarves complained of course at having Bilba go first. Surely she should wait a while having been injured only days before.

“I know Beorn, he is a good friend and ally—“

“Not yet.” Thorin interrupted, lips turned down in a frown.

“Don’t worry,” Bilba huffed, rolling her eyes “he will be.”

*****

Beorn is exactly as she remembers, a huge man with thick black beard and hair, and great bare arms and legs with knotted muscles, clothed only in a tunic of wool down to his knees. “Who are you and what do you want?” he says gruffly, looking down at Gandalf suspiciously while Bilba has slipped behind the wizard’s robe. Only as precaution of course.

“I am Gandalf,” said the wizard, his voice sounding a little strangled to Bilba’s ears.

“Never heard of him,” Beorn glowered, his voice rumbling a warning in his chest. Gandalf let out a nervous ‘ah-hem’ and shuffled about on his feet. Goodness knows what he would have done had Beorn actually decided to attack.

Bilba poked her head out from behind Gandalf’s robe, Beorn immediately noticing the movement and demanded, “What’s that behind you?”

Seeing Beorn’s hand tighten around the handle of his axe, Bilba stepped out from behind Gandalf and gave a little bow.

“I’m not a ‘what’ Master Beorn, but a ‘who’.” She said as politely as she could, wishing she had thought to wear something nicer. She still had a few dresses and skirts tucked away at the bottom of her pack (most likely the creases had creases) and she looked a little worse for wear being so dusty from travelling. “Bilba Baggins of the Shire, at your service.”

Beorn’s expression changed at the sight of her - he had a soft spot for creatures smaller and gentler than himself - to which Bilba intended to take full advantage. “I have been travelling with my companions for some time, one of whom is Gandalf — and if you have not heard of him, perhaps his good cousin Radagast who lives near the Southern borders of Mirkwood? Well, I will get straight to the point Master Beorn rather than whiling away the time with nonsense and riddles! My companions and I are awfully tired and are in need of a place to rest after having encountered Orcs and Goblins on our way out of the Misty Mountains. Some of our party are injured and we need somewhere safe to tend to them—“

Beorn, despite the gruff demeanour he tried to portray, could not completely hide the curiosity he felt. “Goblins injured your companions? What did you go near them for?”

“We didn’t mean to go near them at all really—“ except for me… “We were ambushed and taken down to their King whom Gandalf killed himself!” Praising herself silently at Beorn’s sharp look at Gandalf who spluttered and shuffled she continued, knowing that Beorn would want to know how the tale ended, Dwarves or not. “It really is quite a tale should you wish to hear it?”

As it turns out, the Dwarves really aren’t quite the problem they were before. Beorn is tense at first, bristling when each of the pairs are introduced, he’s surprised when Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel appear and sit without complaint or throwing jibes at the Dwarves. The emnity between Elves and Dwarves was legendary of course, to even have the two races in the same room was considered a great feat.

What Bilba hadn’t considered was that the Dwarves would take over the telling and blow her role completely out of proportion. They made her sound like some kind of hero when really she did what any of them would have done. Her face turns rather red as they continue to extoll her virtues and Beorn looks amused when she begins to eat as much food as she can, an attempt to concentrate on anything other than what her friends are saying. Bilba can feel her ears burning and surely she doesn’t warrant such exuberant praise. She ends up eating half her body weight in food, Beorn listening to the others while he watches her with fascination as she refills her plate, savouring the taste of the fresh milk and sweet honey cakes. And mead. The honey mead is much stronger than she’d remembered and definitely rushing to her head. She may regret the quick intake later on, but for now, it’s making her head buzz pleasantly and she’s finally managed to tune out what the others are saying.

After their retelling of their adventures in the Goblin caves and her defeat of Azog the Defiler (honestly, she didn’t swing the sword by herself, Thorin was there!) her Dwarves all start on the Honeyed Mead with more enthusiasm, except Thorin who disappears with Oin to get his wounds checked and redressed. They drink the sweet mead like water and Elladan and Elrohir get into a drinking contest with Gloin who assures them both that he will drink them under the table. Nori and Bifur take bets and supervise while Ori offers to assist with bringing in more barrels from Beorn’s stores. The shapeshifter more than happy to encourage the game, finding it all very amusing, seeming to like their merry party filling his halls. Hopefully, Bilba thinks, he is warming up to her dwarves.

It seems being safe and warm and dry does wonders for morale and time speeds by. Evening quickly darkens into night as Beorn slips out the door with Glorfindel, giving them a warning not to venture far outside. Bilba is aware he’s going to validate their claims of killing the Goblin King and Azog the Defiler, while Glorfindel is going simply for the chance to kill any more of the foul creatures should they be unlucky enough to cross the two.

The absence of their host prompts the Dwarves to become even louder. Elladan and Elrohir join in the merrymaking delightedly while Gandalf puffs at his pipe contentedly in the corner. Soon enough instruments are pulled from packs and pockets, and music fills the air complete with feet stamping and singing.

At the back of her mind Bilba is well aware that she’s had too much to drink but she honestly doesn’t care.

_Azog is dead._

Bofur pulls her up for a dance.

_They escaped the goblins._

She spins wildly in a twirl and is caught by Dori before she can fall, gracefully led around by strong arms.

_They have arrived at Beorns._

Bombur takes his turn, laughing when she nabs Bofur’s had as they prance by, their movements oddly graceful.

_They are safe._

Fili and Kili bow to her, linking their arms through hers as they teach her some rather tricky footwork.

_They are together._

Bilba dances until her heart feels as though it’s going to beat its way out of her chest and the room sways dangerously. She breaks away from the dancing, plonking Bofur's had back on his head, breathless with laughter and reaching for her mead to wet her dry throat. She feels almost giddy, from the atmosphere, being with her friends and from her rather generous intake of strong Honeyed Mead. Had she imbibed less this evening, she would have perhaps approached their leader for a dance with more tact, and made the offer in a much quieter corner where the company would not have egged him on so.

“I’m afraid my wounds—“

“Are healing! Come on, I’ll even show you a Hobbit dance, a simpler one than all this banging and stamping about you lot seem to enjoy.”

Thorin is a fair dancer and though she is perhaps a little drunk (and before the dancing she had been keeping up with Gloin), she is not oblivious and watches his face for any sign of pain or discomfort. Their King is a little awkward at first, looking uncomfortable as Elladan sways away from the drinking contest with his brother and Gloin to pull out a flute from his pack and begin playing a merry shire song she had taught him in the days before they had sailed.

“You’re doing very well, Thorin.” Bilba grins as she shows Thorin the next steps and he grumbles back at her, not nearly so fierce or bad tempered as he could have been - he’s secretly enjoying it she knows.

“I have a good teacher.”

Bilba’s grin gets a little wider at that, spinning on the balls of her feet for the next move, but she looses concentration for just a moment and trips. She falls forward, only stopped from landing flat on her face by Thorin’s quick reflexes.

“I think that’s enough dancing for now.” Thorin says, “and I believe there is something to be said for our banging and stamping as you put it.”

Bilba hums, her head feeling a little fuzzier —perhaps the spinning had not been a good idea— and leans a little heavier on Thorin as he guides her over to sit at the table. He picks a spot where they can listen to the music, eat, drink and watch Gloin and Elrohir drown themselves in mead. Thorin was almost killed, she should be the one looking after him! She fixes Thorin a heaped plate of food and full flagon of mead, giving him a stare strong enough to rival her grandmother until he begins to eat.

“I assure you I’ve already had something to eat—“

“Yes, and you’re going to have more,” Bilba says, pushing Thorin’s plate back toward him. He’s barely managed to scratch the surface of all she’s put on there though it’s honestly not all that much…”It would be very poor of me to neglect my Dwarves wouldn’t it?”

Thorin’s fork pauses mid-way to his mouth. “Your Dwarves?” he repeats.

“Yes.” Bilba says, knowing that denying it now is futile so she best say it all now, distracting herself with putting more food on Thorin’s plate. “You’re all my family — honorary Baggins’, or Tooks if you prefer, but family all the same.” Her cheeks are probably bright red right now and she picks up his tankard to go and get him some more when Thorin’s larger hand folds over her own smaller one atop the handle.

“You really think of us like that? Of me?” Thorin says quietly and now she is forced to look at him, though worried that he will laugh or reject her offer—he is a king after all and she a simple Hobbit.

Well, as simple as a time-travelling, ring-bearing, Orc-and-spider-slaying, dragon-riddling Hobbit can be.

“Yes. I do.” she manages to say eventually, looking worriedly into Thorin’s blue eyes that seem all the brighter in Beorn’s cheery home.

Thorin’s smile is small and tipping the corners of his lips as he looks at her. “I would have you know now…” Thorin says and he turns, drawing their hands away from the tankard to clasp their hands together between them. The look on his face is so close to amazement and tenderness that her chest aches oddly. Perhaps she needs to see Oin? “…you are important to us. All of us. And I hope you know that you will always be a Dwarf friend. I thank you for my life Bilba Baggins and for helping me to avenge my family…I could not have done so without your aid.”

It’s very odd how Bilba can hear none of the singing or music or dancing anymore, the world is a hazy blur and all noise has become a low buzz. _It’s just the mead_. She tells herself, determinedly focusing on the words coming from Thorin’s lips even as her hands sweat, face heats and chest aches. And perhaps she could have believed it was _just the mead_ , if everything about Thorin from his braids to his words were not in perfect clarity to her.

“I will forever be in your debt.” He finishes lowly.

Then, as though there could not be a sight lovelier than a full pantry and the sunrise over the shire or her friends safe and happy and warm in a restored Erebor, Thorin’s eyes fill with warmth and they crinkle at the corners, his lips tipping up to create that breathtaking smile she’d remembered from the Carrock and…

_Oh._

_Oh you silly girl._

*****

It really is a wonderful evening and if anyone notices the way the King looks far more relaxed than he has done in years, or the way Bilba will check on him, occasionally peeking at the dwarf from the corner of her eyes, no one mentions it.

The company do not share knowing looks as they see their hands placed next to each other on the table in front of them, almost touching. The Company do not give each other hurried signals as Thorin and Bilba share soft words and laughter. The Company definitely do not make any sort of plan at all…

*****

The night’s sky is full of stars and Beorn’s Halls are warm and comfortable, each of the inhabitants are comfortably full of food and drink. It’s not long before Bilba decides to head to bed at the end of the hall amongst the straw, several others already having claimed their spots while Gandalf, Dwalin and Balin are all still awake as judges for Elrohir and Gloin’s drinking competition which is still going strong.

“Here Bilba, we saved you a spot!”

Fili pats the thick layer of straw next to him, Kili looking pleadingly at her to join them, and how can she resist those eyes? She can’t. Dwarves, especially Durins, she finds she can’t resist. That’s why she ends up dragging over her blanket and pack and collapsing back onto the surprisingly soft straw with a sigh. She’s had quite a few more drinks since Thorin had retired to the back of Beorn’s Hall, mulling over all that he’d said and all she had not.

It’s almost comical how blind she’d been had it not hurt half so much.

 _I’ll be leaving in three days,_ she reminds herself sadly, _it’s quite possible that I won’t return even if I am successful in my task._

It’s a hard truth, one she wishes she didn’t have to face just yet, but if it’s the price she has to pay for her friends to be safe then she will gladly do so. _It’s only…Thorin_. It always seems to come back to Thorin. Bilba almost laughs aloud. She must have been truly delusional last time to believe she thought of him only as her friend.

_And now I’m leaving and I may never see him again…_

It was often in moments of trouble or grief or worry that the words of her parents came back to her.

_Do all you can...make the best of the situation...live as full and happy a life as possible._

It was perhaps this last one, which her father had said when Bilba asked (again) how her parents began courting, that felt the most relevant to her situation.

 _Never hold back about how you feel for someone, you may just regret it._ This piece of advice from her father was always accompanied by a soft look toward her mother who would alway smile and roll her eyes when she noticed. She knew her mother had asked her father first, being much bolder and uncaring about what the stuffy busy-bodies in the Shire thought of her.

Bilba knew now, that if she went without at least revealing part of how she felt to the Dwarf King, whether he reciprocated her feelings or not, it would be one of her biggest regrets.

Perhaps, she thought to herself as sleep tugged at her eyelids, _I won’t tell him all at once, Dwarves are more for action than words…_

Thankfully, it’s not long before she murmurs her goodnights and her eyes close wearily, far too tired to pay attention to the hushed muttering and occasional snigger going on around her.

_Had Bilba not come to a conclusion about the recent discovery of her feelings for Thorin Oakenshield and more aware of what was being said then she would have been worried as no more than an hour later several members of the Company make good on their muttered plans. Bedding is moved and chuckles are muffled behind various hands, each dwarf, elf and wizard looking forward to waking in the morning and seeing the first step put into action…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took on a life of its own, reaching over 4,000 words and taking a hell of a lot longer than I hoped it would. I've started back at uni for my second term with 4 projects currently on the go so updates will be a bit slower. 
> 
> I'm still crying over botfa so feel free to talk to me on Tumblr (fatynthemachine) and leave me messages and head cannons for Bagginshield OR AUs I've currently got a list that's over 2 written pages long and ready to go onto my one shot fic thing on my AO3 profile :O
> 
> I hope you like it :)


	18. The Plan

Perhaps it’s because the air is stuffy at the back of Beorn’s barn, where they’ve been sleeping, but Fili can barely breathe at the scene in front of him. Thorin, _his Uncle Thorin_ , is soundly asleep and arms curled around their Hobbit, looking far more relaxed than he’s ever seen before.

Back in Ered Luin it was rare for Fili to actually witness his uncle sleeping, and deeply at that. Thorin was up and out working before Fili would even begin to wake, often he came home so late that Fili was already asleep. Once, when Thorin had returned from working in the towns of men, Fili had found him asleep at the table, bowl of stew finished, shoulders hunched and head resting precariously against his hand. It had only been a few moments before Thorin had woken, feeling Fili’s eyes on him. Now, to see Thorin asleep so deeply spoke volumes to his nephew.

“I think our plan worked a bit too well,” Kili murmured, shifting at Fili’s side - that alone would have woken Thorin before, now he only shifts a bit on the hay and they watch dumbfounded as Bilba snuggles closer to him, head tucked neatly beneath his chin.

On Fili’s other side Ori says nothing, simply blinks rapidly at the sleeping Dwarf and Hobbit, shocked into silence.

The plan had been to move the two beds together and hope that they’d gravitate toward one another on their own. Though no one could have predicted how well it would work. It was not unusual for friends to sleep together when the nights are cold but the barn was warm and usually Bilba would curl up between Elladan and Elrohir, Fili and Kili or Ori and Dori when they were on the road. The rest of the company had seemed amused and gave their approval for Fili and Kili’s antics - Gandalf was of course the most supportive of the group, second only to Dwalin. Dwalin had simply smirked when they’d let him in on the plan, muttering something like it being “about time” and “…that’ll get his arse in gear.” Overall the plan was a success, as they could all see.

“Should we wake them?” Kili whispered.

“If we were going to do it would have to be one at a time I should think—“ Fili replied quietly.

Bilba’s arm which hangs loosely over Thorin’s shoulder shifts and her fingers tangle in the Dwarf’s dark spill of hair. The movement catches Fili, Ori and Kili’s attention immediately, their eyes all widen comically and cheeks turning a dusky shade of pink when Bilba’s fingers shift in Thorin’s hair, tugging a little, and Thorin lets out a deep rumbling breath that’s almost a purr.

Ori, fighting down the rush of colour in her cheeks, turns to look at Fili and Kili as though they’d just declared themselves Elves. “Are you actually being serious?” she hisses, “How do you think we’re going to wake one up without the other — just look at them!” Fili and Kili cringe at the thought, their eyes wandering helplessly to the way Bilba’s hand is tangled in Thorin’s hair. It really would be impossible. Mahal was being rather merciful just to keep Thorin asleep for this long considering all the whispering they were doing.

“We just wanted to see whether the plan worked—“

The slow rustle of hay caught their attention and all three of them froze.

To their great surprise, and chagrin, one of Bilba’s eyes opens sleepily. She studies them all for a moment, the three Dwarrows act like deer before a hunter, ready to bolt. Then, the corner of her lips tips up in a smile and she rolls her eyes, making a silent ‘ _shhh_!’ with her lips before she closes her eye and seems to fall back asleep.

The three Dwarrow can still barely move, their hearts beating so fast and hard in their chests it’s a miracle they’re still alive - the fright of having Bilba wake and spot them is enough to make them feel faint. Simply imagining Thorin doing the same makes them shiver at the thought.

Perhaps if Ori hadn’t snapped out of her shock they’d all have been standing there when the two woke properly, and well, no one needed to stick around for that. With a firm grip on the back of their tunics Ori hauls them out the door and back to the large table where the rest of the Company are gathered.

The group enter the room with little reaction from the others, though looking rather startled and red cheeked they are oddly contained for Dwarves as rambunctious as Fili and Kili. With Ori in the lead they make their way over to Nori who’s sitting with Bofur, sharpening his knives.

“Well?” Nori says eagerly when none move to say a word, Fili and Kili look to be in a daze and Ori’s cheeks are rather pink. “What happened? As it’s so quiet in there I’m guessing they haven’t woken up?“

With a determination and confidence rarely shown to those who didn’t know her, Ori’s next words catch the attention of the others in the room.

“Nori, I’d like to change my bet.”

*****

_Amateurs_ , Bilba thinks, opening her eyes briefly she notices the way the room seems to sway around her… _goodness me, Beorn’s mead is definitely stronger than I remember!_ She closes her eyes again, smiling to herself as she remembers how startled they’d looked. _As if I could still be asleep with the racket they were making_.

Though she is now awake and aware she’s _snuggling_ with Thorin Oakenshield, King of Dwarves, she makes no move to leave, too warm and comfortable to even entertain the thought of moving though perhaps that would have been wise.

When travelling Hobbits, especially family and close friends usually sleep in piles to conserve warmth and she doesn’t know whether Dwarrows are quite the same. Brothers and cousins do sleep side by side one another and she’s only seen Fili, Kili and Ori be so clingy to one another, simply because they’re so young. Nights, and mornings, like this will soon be far from her reach and she decides, as improper as it may be, she wants to make the most of it.

_It’ll be fine_ , she thinks to herself, the warm haze of the barn beginning to lull her to sleep once more, _I’ll make sure to wake up before Thorin and he’ll never know I was here…_

*****

Thorin wakes slowly. He’s warm, and more comfortable than he has any right to be, considering he drank like a fish last night and was chewed by a Warg only a few days ago. Then, he’s aware of voices in the other room which he thinks is rather odd as he’s usually the first awake.

“What time is it?” he grumbles to himself, and then he becomes aware there’s something - or more rightly _someone_ in his arms.

Finding out the time suddenly no longer matters.

Copper coloured curls tickle his chin and he can feel the small warm form of what can only be their burglar, pressed up against him. His heart stops and then begins to beat a furious pace in his ears while the back of his neck begins to burn in what must be a truly impressive shade of red as he realises their position.

One of his arms is tucked beneath her head, acting as a firm pillow, and the other is slung over her waist, his hand resting firmly against her soft curved hip—Oh _Mahal_! He must have curled up against her in the night and though they’ve been travelling companions they have not been especially close. It’s even a little improper. Of course, it’s not because he’s been feeling rather fond of her recently. Certainly not. Her head is tucked beneath his chin and her hands are curled around fistfuls of his tunic, her large furred feet are pressed up against his own bare ones and he feels his face begin to burn with an odd mixture of embarrassment and pleasure that he can’t quite explain.

As comfortable as this position is, he knows he has to move before she wakes up and finds herself tangled up with him. Her mortification at being found in such a position would be most unwelcome Thorin decides. It is best she does not wake.

Thorin makes to pull away, slow and as gently as he can, the hand that had been resting against her hip is withdrawn and he scoots back a little, the hay rustling beneath him noisily. He keeps up an internal conversation with himself as he does so, trying desperately not to panic as he becomes more aware of himself and the flowery scent of Bilba’s skin. Morning is a risky time to be pressed up against another like this and it certainly doesn’t help for that someone to be rather—

“ _No…don’t go…_ ”

Thorin freezes at the sound of her sleepy voice. Only his left arm remains pillowed beneath her head - he is almost untangled - but all his efforts will be for naught if she wakes now. Thorin prays to all the Valar that she will not wake if he just keeps still…

_He will try to make an effort with Bard when they meet him_

_He will be more generous with the treasure_

_He will not be so tough on his nephews_

_He will be nice to elves…_

His prayers are answered. She doesn’t wake.

It is infinitely worse.

Still in the grip of sleep, Bilba scoots toward him atop the hay bed, her face pressed incredibly close - they are almost nose to nose! Thorin lets out a strangled sound as her arms come around his neck and her hands burrow deep into his hair, there is some gentle tugging as she does so and Thorin bites down hard on his tongue to keep him from making a sound.

Perhaps he could have coped with that, _just that_ —her face pressed close and her hands buried scandalously in his hair. But of course nothing was ever so simple when it involved him.

Bilba scoots closer still, her chest presses up against Thorin’s own where only two thin tunics separate them and he can feel each curve and dip of her body.

He needs to move _now_ \- he tries to shift - and his efforts are met with the most torturous resistance. Thorin is sure his face must be as red as a furnace as he finds himself with a more insistent problem than he’s ever had before.

Her leg. _She’s moved her leg_.

Instead of beside his own or stretched out, it is now curled over his hip, made worse by her wriggling to get comfortable and soft sigh as she settles. The brush of warm breath over his lips almost breaks him. She is asleep, looking for warmth and certainly does not realise their position, otherwise she would probably be running for the hills. Even back to the Goblin Tunnels!

Bilba clings to Thorin like a limpet and he has to recount every lesson he’s ever had on forging, and the various grades of gems as he can, though even that is not enough. He even resorts to counting the many planks of wood that make up the walls and ceiling of Beorn’s barn just to distract him from his current _state_. It does not help at all. It takes roughly half an hour, moving ever so slightly to seperate himself from their Hobbit, until finally, he is free.

Thorin stands and is about to collect his things and leave when a frown furrows Bilba’s brow and she begins to stir.

_Now is not a good time for her to wake!_  Thorin panics, especially considering his current red faced, uncomfortable state, and Bilba’s hands sleepily reach out to the empty hay in search of him. _No, not me particularly, it could have been anyone sleeping beside her_ …the thought doesn’t make him happier, but as the frown deepens on her brow Thorin’s eyes land on his travel coat. Without a thought he snatches his furred coat from the floor and bundles it up pushing it hastily between the Hobbit’s searching hands. The frown slowly fades and she lets out a hum of appreciation as she pulls the coat to her and buries her face into it. The room is far too warm and Thorin feels little relief. He still needs to get out of the room, and fast.

Thorin throws on as many clothes to conceal his situation and tries to calm the blush on his cheeks as he leaves the room. It certainly would do no good for the Company to see him like this, even more so knowing that only he and Bilba had been sleeping in this room so late. _Now, if he could only slip past them…_

“Uncle!” Fili’s voice is loud and clear, there is no way he could pretend he had not heard it. He looks up, his nephew is smiling and waving him over. “Come here, we saved you some breakfast - or lunch if you’d prefer.” he adds cheekily.

_Damn it. Damn it all._

WIth an inaudible sigh Thorin moves carefully over to the oversized table and takes a seat at the head between his nephews, face as neutral as he can make it. The Company are all seated and eating, each one stealing glances at him from the corner of their eyes - the only ones who don’t are Gandalf and the Elves, though they all have annoying smiles present on their faces.

They must have seen he and Bilba asleep and decided not to wake him - the look on his face darkens as Fili pushes a full plate toward him and he begins to eat, trying to ignore the prickling along his neck their gazes give him.

It’s Dwalin’s muffled laugh that makes him look back up.

“What?” he growls, famous Durin glare in effect. Why do none of them look at least a little bit intimidated?

Beside him Kili taps his shoulder and Thorin turns to look at his nephew. His hair is just as dark as Thorin’s and unbraided as per usual, he seems to be dressed in his usual garb too though he could probably do with wiping his face as there is a bit of dirt smeared across his cheek. For once, Kili’s expression is serious and Thorin waits for what his nephew has to say.

“Did you enjoy your roll in the hay, Uncle?”

Thorin raises one imperious brow, watching as Kili’s mouth quivers as he fights a smile, eyes dancing. Thorin’s just about to speak when Kili’s hand reaches up and plucks a long piece of hay from his dark hair. At the sight of it the others let loose their laughter, unable to contain it any longer.

_I don’t have to listen to this,_ Thorin thinks to himself as he gets up and stomps his way outside, making sure to take his pack. He needs some time to himself that does not involve meddling friends or sleepy clingy Hobbits…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient with me! RL has been very busy and this chapter had several variations which I couldn't choose from - one where Bilba woke first and Thorin was clingy - and completely adorable. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to leave prompts/headcannons/general feels about bagginshield in my inbox on tumblr (fatynthemachine) where I post art and hobbit stuff (it's taken over my life). I hope you have a good week though it's almost over now! Easter is also coming up so I'll try to get some more written then along with some art commissions which I'll make a post about on my tumblr next week sometime :)
> 
> I've also got a list of other fic recommendations on my tumblr if anyone's interested ---> http://fatynthemachine.tumblr.com/post/109023415419/bagginshield-fix-it-happy-fic-rec-part-1
> 
> or just go to my hobbit-fic-rec tag on tumblr where you can see ALL my recs :)


	19. Days of Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive, just balancing uni, social life, sleeping and writing several fics is definitely a lot harder! So sorry for the long wait on this!

Bilba was a worrier. She couldn’t help it. 

If she cared for a person, animal or a certain piece of pottery then of course she was going to look after whatever, or whomever, it was and see that they were safe. 

Thorin, bathing in a freezing cold stream, out of sight and hearing range of the Company, was not something she considered a suitable way to get clean. The sun was shining and the air quite warm, though not enough to make bathing outside preferable. It seemed silly to continue bathing as they had been when there was a perfectly sizeable bath inside and plenty of hot water. 

All she could see was…well, quite a lot of him if she was being truthful. 

Bilba could see every muscle in Thorin’s back move as he brought up a cloth and soap to wash himself. His hair was heavy with water, unbraided and clung to his shoulders in thick ropes. Unsurprisingly the heat in her cheeks had fizzled out rather quickly once she focused on the cuts and bruising that littered his torso. It seemed that every interaction with Azog would scar him in some way, whether mentally or physically. The others, not from Azog, but other fights and memories, old and silvery, new and pink, littered his arms, back and sides, telling stories across his skin. 

Bilba wondered how many more would see themselves written by the end of the journey though she hoped would have time to fade and turn silver with age as the rest had.

 _Well don’t just stand there!_ A voice sounding remarkably like her mother piped up. _Unless you want him to think you a peeping Tom!_

Definitely not. That would be most improper.

So, frown firmly fixed on her face so her jaw would be less likely to hang open, ordered Thorin inside to take the bath the Sheep had drawn for him.

Thorin had been surprised at her arrival and had almost slipped on the slick stones that lay on the riverbed, but he managed to catch himself just in time. 

“What?” Thorin barked at her, irritated when he saw it was only Bilba waiting for him on the bank. “I’m not finished bathing.” He was clearly annoyed at not having heard her approach though she would be a very poor burglar indeed if everyone heard her coming.

Bilba just gave him _the look_ which was as successful as it had always been (very) and her eyes remained firmly fixed on his face as he emerged from the water. 

Dwarves were not shy about their bodies in mixed company - and it was lucky that Bilba had grown used to their almost constant indecency the first time because otherwise she surely would have fainted. Come to think of it, she had almost done so the first time.

“I am not some child to be ordered about—“ Thorin grumped as he took the towel Bilba was holding out and wrapped it about his waist. He bent down to pick up the rest of his clothes and which had been folded and piled on a nearby rock before looking sulkily at her. 

“No, you are a King who should know better. That stream is freezing Thorin, you’d be just as likely to loose a few toes as you were to get clean. You dwarves have much more delicate feet…surely a hot bath is a more appealing option?” Bilba tried to be reasonable about it but she was sure Thorin didn’t see it quite her way. 

There was no reason to continue as though they were still on the road - denying themselves luxuries while they were offered would do them no favours. Did he not care to rest and recover properly? There was no addition of hands on hips yet, but it was only because he had left the stream and not continued. Hypothermia was not pleasant.

She thought she heard hum mutter the word ‘ _bossy_ ’ under his breath but she couldn’t be sure…her eyes narrowed a little more just in case.

Now mostly covered with the towel she had brought him, Bilba felt a touch better about Thorin’s state of dress. It was difficult not to follow the water that dripped down from his loose dark hair, across his collarbone and down his chest, but she managed it…mostly. She was sure he even caught her once or twice.

“Well,” she said when a silence settled over them, suddenly feeling rather warm, “let’s get going shall we?” 

“After you.” He said. Despite holding his clothes with one hand, the towel up with the other and dripping wet, Thorin still looked like a king. Perhaps he was born like that? His first words were probably along the lines of “I command thee” or something equally amusing.

Bilba led the way to the small barn, where the sheep had drawn a bath for Thorin, and tried to focus on counting how many steps she took to get there. It would do no good to focus on _other things_ , and surely after the company’s rather observant gaze when she had risen this morning, they would not miss a flushed and flustered Hobbit.

*****

Thorin doesn’t tell anyone that he had almost slipped in the stream when Bilba had surprised him with her appearance. Hobbits are terribly quiet, and apparently quite dangerous when their target is bathing. He can see why Gandalf would have volunteered Bilba in the first life, as quiet as she is. 

As he climbs into the tub he agrees that the hot water is preferable to the chilly stream, though hopefully it’ll be a little more private and Bilba will not appear again before he is done. Being alone in a Company such as theirs is rarely possible, and never for very long. He intends to make full use of the privacy and relax properly.

*****

Beorn’s home is as large, and as comfortable, as she remembers. She finds the way the animals walk a little less disturbing this time, though being able to converse with them does much to help. 

After politely asking after a bath, preparing rations for travel, and being able to understand and reply to the animals, Bilba soon has a small pack of animals that follow her everywhere. Mostly made up of sheep and dogs (and ponies when she ventures outside) there is little time to be lost in her thoughts when they ask so many questions. 

Much to the delight of their host and the amusement of the Company, Bilba becomes the centre of attention, and instead of Dwarves and Elves surrounding her for a story, there are animals and a Shapeshifter who give her their full attention. They often insist on sitting outside so the other larger animals can all hear her tales too. They are enraptured by the stories of her Shire and how they love green and growing things more than anything else. Except perhaps food. 

It is when Bilba shows them her powers that Beorn is unable to contain himself and picks her up in his enthusiasm. Sitting so high upon his shoulder makes her a little woozy but she does not complain. Not if Beorn is to be at all amenable to helping her dwarves to Mirkwood and then later should the Orcs and Goblins come to take Erebor. His bear form was suitably terrifying last time.

Bilba uses her powers to thicken the grass beneath the animals, each purring or yipping or rumbling their delight as they roll on their backs.

“ _Are all Hobbits like you?_ ” a rather excitable pup asks, her tail thumping against the ground as Bilba amuses another by allowing a vine to spring up from the ground and trail across the floor for it to chase.

Gandalf, who has a habit of appearing and then disappearing when he is needed most, seems to appear magically behind them, making Bilba startle and Beorn laugh at the look on her face.  

The wizard bends down to scratch the pup behind its ear. “Of course not, I can safely say that Bilba Baggins is quite unique among Hobbits.” 

She really should have heard him approach, feeling his footsteps reverberate through the ground as he walked but she had been quite busy. Bilba looks at Gandalf with an unimpressed eye though all he does is _twinkle_ at her.

Bilba hasn’t seen so much of him since their arrival, having been making plans and preparations with Glorfindel for the route they would take with the Eagles, and she was hoping that she might be involved in such plans. Along with preparing Lembas for the journey ahead and speaking to Beorn’s animals, the rest of her time is taken up by her Dwarves. It seems as though they do not need her help as they have Elladan and Elrohir for further details on Frodo’s journey and Glorfindel who had spoken of a secret way in. 

“Is there anything I can help you with, Gandalf?” Bilba asks quickly before he can slink away. 

“Keep doing as you are, dear Bilba and that shall be enough. You are still healing after all.” He smiles and before she can say anything more he hurries off, whistling as he does so.

 _Wizards_ , she scoffs.

By the end of their third day at Beorn’s, Bilba has made enough Lembas bread to last the company all the way to Dale (should they actually keep to the forest path this time). She continues to make provisions, and, while they have the luxuries of Beorn’s protection and food stores, she makes sweet treats and tartlets that everyone seems to enjoy. 

“Good this,” Dwalin says as he shoves another baked biscuit into his mouth, “Any more?” Crumbs are everywhere. The plates she’d placed on the table are empty and they’re all looking eagerly at her. It’s comical how their eyes seem to light up when she smiles and fetches the extra she’d made - _just in case_.

Ultimately Bilba is glad for the distractions from the Company as they allow her to fall into bed at the end of the day and sleep deep and dreamlessly. However, she suspects it might not be solely down to exhaustion, but due to the strong arms that she wakes up in each morning. 

She has enough covers to keep herself warm, and the hay beneath them all is soft enough to allow them all to sleep easy, but each night she somehow ends up wrapped securely in the arms of the Dwarves King. Whether this is down to the fact that they may just be rolling into one another in the night because Thorin is a secret hugger (yeah right) or due to Fili and Kili’s ‘plan’, she makes no mention of the close quarters she and Thorin share at night. She didn’t want to embarrass Thorin and make him scold the younger ones for having some fun at her expense. She knows it is impossible for Thorin to hold more than friendship for her, having seen what a great Dwarves Beauty looks like. 

There is a greater possibility of Sauron deciding to give up his plot to rule Middle Earth and destroy the One Ring!

*****

Thorin was often lost in his thoughts and received nudges and loud coughs from the Company when they noticed. It had been impossible to ignore his debt to their Hobbit. It weighed on his mind until there was very little room left for anything else, the way she had supported him and pressed her hand around his own and helped him swing Orcrist down…

 Some seemed to think it funny, assuming they could read his thoughts, their eyes straying to where Bilba would often be sat amongst the wildflowers twisting them into some sort of crown to sit atop her curls. It was rare that she would not be seen without flowers peeking from behind her ears or braided into her hair and though he knew little about them, or appreciated them as much as the gleam of a gem, he found they suited her. 

Their Hobbit seemed to breeze about Beorn’s home, as industrious as the Skin-changer’s bees that made the sweet honey from the flowers outside. She was a whirl of activity that left them all with lapfuls of treats she wanted them to try, piles of Lemmas bread for their journey and their holed clothing stitched up and mended. There was even time for Bilba to practice with her sword - Sting - and then her powers too, using them to help with her swordplay by tripping Fili up when he charged or wrapping vines around Dwalin’s ankles.

“Uncle?”

“I’m fine, Fili.” Thorin replied, waving his nephew away.

They had been fussing over him too, almost as much as Bilba had. 

Surely they could see that he was better? Even Oin seemed surprised that the bite from the Warg was healing so rapidly, pink and sore but already the bruises were turning yellow. They had joked that it was Bilba’s Hobbit food that had made him recover so quickly, but Thorin knew that to be false. It wasn’t the food. It was Bilba. 

Every night he went to bed, and he had stopped fighting his nephew’s scheming to place the two of them beside each other, he woke up with Bilba in his arms, feeling lighter and stronger and in less pain than he had the day before. Even Bilba had exclaimed at how well he was doing, having explained that it had taken him close to two weeks before he was well enough to continue on in her previous life. Tomorrow, they would have been at Beorn’s five days. 

Thorin knew must be her powers, growing stronger and stronger by the day. He could see it when she practiced, watching from one of the enormous benches Beorn had made or in the shade of the large oak tree to the side of the barn. The others joined him often, it seemed they could barely stand to be without Bilba for more than an hour at a time. He could not blame them, soon she would be leaving, but having spent so much time around her surely they could see the changes in her too? 

It was subtle but the way she held herself made her look taller almost, though really she was the same as before. Wherever she was she seemed to take up more room, she was impossible to ignore, speaking to everyone and observing, making sure they all had everything they needed and more. It seemed as though she was more aware and confident in her movements and as she practiced with drawing plants and green things from the earth, and her smile became a little brighter. 

Thorin blew out a frustrated breath, smoke from his pipe curling through the air, and ignored the inquiring look from Dwalin. 

Of course, it was the night she was due to leave and Thorin had been feeling woefully out of sorts all day. The Company - Dwarves, elves and the shapeshifter along with several of his pets had crowded into the Barn for a final meal before she was due to leave. It had been filling, the table almost groaning with the amount of food placed on it, and now they sat by one another to simply enjoy the last of their time together before it was time to leave, and separate, they for Mirkwood and Bilba and Glorfindel for Mordor with the Eagles.

Bilba was to his left, a solid presence beside him, their arms almost touching while Gandalf told a story about a misunderstanding with fireworks and making several Hobbits late for dinner. Bilba’s own mother was involved somehow which then led to stories of her attempts to court Bungo Baggins. Thorin was sure the others had noticed the way Bilba seemed to relax at the familiar topic and her smile become softer, she almost seemed to glow. Though it was of course the light from the candles that were set up around them. 

The others barely seemed to notice as Bilba began to remove the flowers from her hair, looking just as fresh as she’d picked them this morning, to lay them in her lap. 

Thorin tried to look nonchalant as she undid the band at the bottom of her braid, but it failed miserably and he could no more help the heat in his cheeks than he could stop the sun from setting.

Bilba began to brazenly comb through her hair with her fingers, seemingly unaware of how her actions could be interpreted as she began to braid it again, slipping the flowers back into the braid as she went.

“Are you quite alright, Thorin?” she frowned when she noticed that the others were looking at him with barely concealed laughter. 

 _Damn them_. 

She tied off the end of her braid to keep it secure. “Your face…” 

Thorin tried to say he was _quite alright_ but there seemed to be something stuck in his throat and all he made was a pathetic choking sound around the stem of his pipe. 

Before he could blink, Bilba’s hand was on his forehead and her face far too close to his own. 

“You’re a touch warm. Perhaps you need to cool down outside?” she looked worriedly at him. “I hope you’re not getting sick…”

Thorin of course had nodded at her suggestion, ignoring the shit-eating grin on Dwalin’s face as they made eye contact, and mumbled something along the lines of being ‘ _too warm_ ’ and had left. He moved _quickly_ out the barn door but not so fast as to make it seem as though he was running. At least he now had a chance to collect himself.

Unfortunately, his humiliation was not to end as he could hear them send her after him! 

 He hauled himself up to sit on one of Beorn’s benches and sat back to look up at the stars, desperately hoping that the cool air would help reduce the redness in his face before she joined him. When he turned his head however, he was startled to see that she was already approaching him. 

He had noticed that the way moved was different, her feet barely brushing the ground, and if she was quiet before, she was damn near silent now. Bilba hopped up onto the bench with much more grace than his own movement and tilted her head back to look at the stars. The moonlight cast her in a silvery glow, different from the warmth of the fire and yet still as…well he supposed Bilba was an acceptable looking sort for a Hobbit. Surely she was being humble when she mentioned there had been only one or two suitors back in the Shire? He had seen a few Hobbits and they all seemed to be soft things, not a beard or any sort of muscle in sight and—Why was he thinking about this? Bilba Baggins had signed a contract and was in his employ, her physical features certainly didn’t matter. 

Thorin couldn’t help but frown as he tried to asses the burning in his cheeks (reduced to prickling embers rather than the furnace it had been) and the strange twisting in his gut. Why did he feel so out of sorts? Perhaps he really was coming down with something.

“Are you alright?”

Thorin couldn’t hold back his scoff. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” He really should have.

“I should think that either one of us could ask, seeing as we’re both heading off into life threatening situations.” Bilba hummed, the sound far more relaxed than the topic warranted.

“Facing a dragon is hardly the same as going to Mordor.” Thorin told her seriously. As terribly awkward as it would be, he could comfort her if she needed it. He would not blame her for her fears. Her journey was not one for the feint of heart and certainly made much more unpleasant by the lack of friends to journey with.

She let out a soft laugh and the dinner they’d eaten barely an hour ago settled roughly in his stomach. “You’re quite right of course, I’ve already done the first one.” 

 He looked back up at the stars, feeling beads of sweat start to prickle at his neck. 

The thought of her heading to Mordor made him feel out of sorts - it was the life debt he owed her and the friendship that had slowly started to grow between them. There was all manner of things that could harm her, and without the Company there and only Glorfindel to protect her, it was likely she would be unable to fight her way out of it. He was startled from the increasingly dark line of thought by the touch of her hand on his.

Thorin looked from her face, concerned and a touch confused, to where her hand rested atop of his. His face relaxed and his frown faded under her open look, there was no use worrying, and when Bilba saw it, she smiled. 

He stares longer than is proper but he is trying to burn the image of her like this into his mind. Remembering her like this, smiling, safe, unharmed, will hopefully get him through the days and nights heading to Mordor with only one guard he wishes was him—to repay the debt he owes of course. And to protect his friend. His thoughts swirl in a seemingly endless dance and it confuses him even more.

Gems. Gold. They are much simpler things.

He draws his hand away and he is suddenly much more aware of the silence around them and desperate to fill it. There is very little time left before she leaves and he needs to let her know that he is grateful for all she has done, and all she is yet to do. His chest constricts with the fear that she will not understand the gravity of what she has done for them, for Dwarves. With her they have a real chance of returning Erebor to the Dwarves and making it out alive, as well as bringing Sauron’s creeping darkness to an end. “When we take back the mountain is there anything you would have above all else?” He says suddenly. 

His voice rougher than usual though desperately fighting to keep it level and normal and not sound as though he is about to keel over, for he would surely never live it down. 

Bilba remains silent for a long time, her hands come to rest upon her stomach and her feet swing beneath the bench lazily, staring up at the stars as she thinks.  

Eventually, with a soft look, she smiles at him. “Keep my Mithril shirt safe for me and I’ll consider us even.”

All breath leaves him in a _whoosh_ and Thorin suddenly finds himself without words. Usually he is able to conjure a line or two on the spot and his speeches are rather good, able to rile up and inspire the most reluctant of people. He has no sudden impassioned speech for her now, a slightly dazed “ _What_?” is all that makes it past his lips.

“There is very little that is beautiful _and_ practical, and my shirt is both. It saved my life and that of my nephew a time or two, so if it’s alright with you I would quite like it back.”

Thorin cannot help but feel a little stunned, and his eyebrows must have reached his hairline by now, “So _that_ is what you chose last time?” Mithril was….Mithril. The rarity ensured the value was high and considering the amount to make an actual _shirt_ (even if it was for a Hobbit Bilba’s size) it would have taken up most, if not all, of her 14th share. She had a discerning eye that was for sure. Perhaps he had underestimated her again.

Bilba looks sheepish and a little embarrassed, a single curl has already escaped her braid and she tucks it behind a pointed ear. “Well, I wouldn’t have known what it was if you hadn’t given it to me. You said it was a gift.” Bilba smiles at him amused and taps a finger on her chest, “I’m a Hobbit remember. Better with food and flowers than precious metals. Besides, there was so much in there it was probably luck that you found it at all…” 

She begins to talk more about how apparently it had been meant for a young Elven Prince but Thorin can barely breathe, her words blur in his ears and he allows himself to turn back to look up at the stars. From the corner of his eye he sees Bilba slide off the bench and begin to move inside. He hadn’t even realised she had stopped speaking as her words are still echoing in his head. She turns back to look over her shoulder and asks, “Are you coming?” 

“In a moment,” Thorin replies, his voice rough. It is a wonder he is able to speak.

He hears the door to Beorn’s Barn open, chatter rushing out of it, before it closes once more and he is left alone with his thoughts.

The night air is suddenly far cooler on his skin and he stretches his hands out in front of him noticing how they shake while the hairs on his arms raise and prickle. Perhaps it is the adrenaline? It would explain the way his chest echoes with the beat of his heart and how his blood seems to shiver through his veins. 

 Her words echo in his ears, repeating over and over.

_It was a gift._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with this and being so patient, I know it's hard to wait for an update to a fic especially when the writer leaves it on a cliffhanger but I'm hoping to be posting at least a little more than once a year (the last character I posted was literally a year ago, I'm so sorry!!!)


	20. Departure

Bilba has checked that the Ring is still in its small pouch (it is) and secures it around her neck. She feels the weight of it almost immediately, heavier than it should be, but not so much that it is yet cause for worry. Despite the air of despair that seems to linger on the fringes of the Company, Bilba puts on a brave face that she hopes will mask the fear she feels from the rest of her friends. She knows they too are trying to put on brave faces for her, and she won’t make it any harder for them by showing how scared she truly is. There is so much that could go wrong, and yet, if she succeeds, much that could go right.

Their supplies and meagre belongings had been secured to an eagle, the other they would ride, and the third would come with them for the protection of the other two and to help carry the load should either get tired. The route they will take is unknown to Bilba but she is assured that it is the safest they could take in the circumstances. Travelling at night and rest during the day will allow them further protection.

All too soon it’s time to leave and they all gather outside Beorn’s home, the eagles waiting to one side while Bilba says her goodbyes.

She pulls Elladan and Elrohir to the side and then to their knees to speak softly with her.

“Promise me you will look after my Dwarves” she says in a voice so low that it won’t carry over to the others who are waiting to say their own goodbyes. “And you will keep each other safe, nothing stupid or overly dangerous please!“

“Of course Bilba, we will—”

“Good,” Bilba says tearfully, “because Kili is very reckless and Fili will always try to jump in and save his brother. Dwalin and Balin will put themselves in harms way if anyone else is in danger and will draw the fire onto themselves. If Bifur has a night terror it’s best to try and hum or hand him something to carve if you need to though his cousins will know what to do it’s best to warn you. Oh and Bofur has a terrible habit of rambling and putting his foot in his mouth when trying to get out of trouble though it usually lands him in it. As you know Bombur is much quieter in comparison though appreciates bushcraft and I’m sure could assist you if you needed it.” Bilba’s words came out in a rush, listing off all the things she knew about each member of the company and how Elladan and Elrohir should watch if Kili was shifting from foot to foot or seeming bored — boredom breeds stupidity — or how Ori’s focus on a task set was very good but she had the tendency to get lost in her own head or wander off if she wasn’t focused on where she was going. Of course that also meant Dori was a worrier, especially considering Nori’s sticky fingers. “…and Oin would love to hear of elven healing and collecting plants and herbs and for Yavanna’s sake, don’t let Thorin navigate!” 

Bilba let out a heavy huff, looking pleadingly at her elves. 

“Just…please try to settle any misunderstandings that may arise in the King’s halls? It’s been a long journey, longer still, and their people still have fresh wounds to pick at.”

Elladan drew her between them and they gave her a strong hug that made her feel warm and safe and loved. 

“You have not given us an easy task,” he said and she could feel the low hum of his voice through her armour, “but we shall do our best to keep your friends safe, little sister” The words made tears fill Bilba’s eyes and she hugged them even tighter. 

*****

Bilba is quite sure Dori almost breaks her back with the strength of her hug though gentles immediately when Bilba lets out a surprised sound. Ori gifts her with some lovely knitted gloves for her hands that seem to be made of something much firmer than wool but just as warm. Nori slips her an extra knife to fit into her belt and Gloin gives a few rather suspicious sniffs and coughs as he hugs her hard enough to bruise. Bombur gifts her a small sweet cake to eat on the way while Bifur hands her a new finely carved pipe and Bofur shares one last joke. Oin presses a pack of healing herbs into her hands and Dwalin and Balin give her a tip each on various stances and tactics should she get closer than comfort to anything likely to kill her…and then there’s Fili and Kili, both of whom are looking like kicked puppies.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says pulling them into a hug. It’s almost like the hug with Elladan and Elrohir, but her dwarves are more reasonably sized. 

With Fili and Kili being so young and having remembered what happened to them last time, she feels the need to _protect_ them so strongly she almost doesn’t let go. 

When they finally pull away Kili is sniffing and Fili is clearly clenching his jaw from the way the muscle bounces in his cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it and no doubt scolding you both for being so rambunctious that you’ll wish me away again.” Her throat feels impossibly tight and it’s difficult to speak louder than a croak. 

Kili and Fili look horrified. 

“No, never! We’d never wish you away!”

She’s suddenly engulfed in another hug, tighter than the last and she can feel the telltale drip of tears onto her shoulders while they promise not to cause too much trouble if she will come back. It’s hard to understand what they’re saying from the way they’ve both buried their faces in her neck, but she gets the gist of it.

“Hush now…everything will work out in the end, you’ll see.” Bilba murmurs. When they pull away again she wipes hurriedly at her own eyes.

“Bilba,” Gandalf calls and she feels her stomach drop all the way down to the ground. She turns to see Gandalf waiting by the eagles with Glorfindel and everything is packed and ready to go.

“Just a moment,” she calls back, because there’s someone else she needs to say goodbye to. 

Thorin stands at the back of the group, his expression is solemn but his eyes are as intense as ever. He seems to glow in the moonlight though only in a light tunic and breeches, armour discarded (not lightly) in the safety of Beorn’s Halls he is just as much a kingly figure as ever. 

“Did you really think you were going to get off so easy, Thorin Oakenshield?” her smile wavers a little when Thorin makes no move to reply. “Come over here so I can give you a proper goodbye…” 

He moves forward with measured steps and comes to a stop just before her like a Dwarf about to be sentenced for heinous crimes. 

“I will come back you know.” She says softly, placing her hand on his arm and trying to reassure him, even though they have know way of knowing.

“You can’t promise that.” Thorin replies, and for a moment he almost looks angry until it shifts into something resembling the fierce determination he had shown when they were running from Smaug. “But you will. You _will_ come back.” 

In a practiced move that must have been done a thousand times he removes a silver bead from the braid hanging by his left cheek and offers it to her. The low gasps of the others are smothered by the sudden ringing that sounds in her ears. “These beads were made and carved for me by my parents when I was born. There is very little that I have left from Erebor and even less that is from my parents. I would give this one for you to wear.”

The fear she’d felt before about leaving now shows freely on her face. She could never take something of his on a journey that was so dangerous. Bilba had no guarantee that she would return, her journey was not so easy as a trip to Bree! She could not take something that had so much sentimental value to him either, and from his parents, both of whom were deceased. 

“Thorin I couldn’t—“ 

Her mouth snaps closed when he reaches for her hair, giving her enough time to move away…but seeing that look on his face, she nods stiffly and allows it. She has seen the look on his face a hundred times before and knows he will not be moved. 

“You’ll be getting this back you know.” She says with a frown when he gently separates a piece of hair from her braid, somehow managing to keep the rest neat as he did so. 

“Even if I—“

“If you did not return it yourself then I would consider it lost.” Thorin says and Bilba stills in place as he begins to weave the strands together. The braid hangs just in front of her left ear, matching the place where it would have been in Thorin’s hair. With everyone standing around them so quietly she thinks it has something of an air of ceremony about it.

“It would be a great loss to lose one of a matched pair.”

 It seems to take no time at all and forever to finish the braid but soon enough he’s capping the end with the bead and it taps Bilba’s cheek as he lets it go. As he steps back a little his hands fall back to his sides and Bilba can’t help but be drawn to the place where his bead once rested. It doesn’t seem right to have one without the other. He looks unmatched, uneven, almost wrong without it resting there.

“You’re impossible, you know that, don’t you?” she chokes and in two short steps she’s hugging him as tight as she can, arms thrown around his neck. When she feels Thorin’s arms wrap around her, it’s like nothing else. She stands on the tips of her toes and with her arms around his neck she buries her head against his neck, feeling the scratch of his beard against her face and the sturdy cloth of his tunic that covers him. In her head she promises herself that she will come back, if only to return the bead to this stubborn, stupid, _brave_ dwarf. 

That’s not the only reason she would come back of course. She also needs to make sure he doesn’t kill himself, she needs to prevent the war or at least help in it in order to keep the company safe…

The moment lasts barely more than a second before she hears Glorfindel call her.

“Bilba it is time to go!”

She tries to force this moment into her memory so she can save it for the journey. The way he smells reminds her of fires and forests and good pipeweed. She tries to think of how strong his arms are and how warm she feels with them wrapped around her and…

Bilba forces herself back before she changes her mind and tries to make light of the fact that her heart feels like it’s torn in two. “You’ll see me again soon enough,” she tells him, thinking that the strange weight of the bead will take some getting used to.

Thorin puts his hand on her shoulder and gently puts his forehead against her own. “I hope so, Bilba Baggins.” His breath feels warm against her face and they have to pull away before she lingers too long. 

“And you’re getting this back!” She flicks the braid with her finger and through misty eyes watches Thorin’s expression carefully.

It takes a moment, and it could almost be a trick of the light, but she thinks she sees Thorin’s lips twitch in a small smile, his face changing briefly from solemn and serious to cradle a small flicker of hope in the curve of his lips. 

“I’m counting on it.”

*****

Gandalf’s hands engulf hers in a strong grip. He’s knelt down on creaking knees to be closer to her and give her his goodbyes. They’d shared a hug, and promises to meet again, all between warnings to be safe. 

“Know that I believe in you. _It_ is strong, but you are stronger.” Gandalf had helped her onto the eagle, still speaking words of encouragement.

“Thank you, my friend,” Bilba says and she can no longer stop the tears from spilling over. She looks at the others, Dwarves still in their own group with Elladan and Elrohir off to the side and to Beorn standing by his ponies looking sadly at her. He knows where she’s headed, and though they haven’t told him, he can guess why.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

Gandalf steps back to stand with the others and Glorfindel wraps his arm around her to keep her from falling as the eagles force them into the air.  Their great wings flap with the force of a small hurricane and they lurch upward and she jolts about, knowing without Glorfindel there she would have surely fallen. 

Bilba desperately wants to close her eyes but she doesn’t want to loose sight of her friends, knowing that it will be weeks before she can set her eyes on them all again…and if she doesn’t make it back…well, it’s the last thing she wants to remember.

They soar up and up and up until Bilba can no longer see the dots that make up her friends, sure that she is now only a blur in the sky to them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looking at large pile of unfinished uni assignments* oops.  
> Might be a little while before we see another update for this, I hope it won't be too long! Thanks for being so patient!


	21. Feelings Shared and Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrote this chapter several times and then realised I preferred the first version. Figures.   
> Hope you like it, sorry for the long wait!  
> No beta - all mistakes are mine.

“Stop doing that, you’re making my neck prickle.” Elladan huffed scrubbing at it with his hand. “Think about something else.”

“I’m sorry,” Elrohir sighed, tugging on the straps that secured his pack to his horse. “But I can’t help but feel like we’re missing something…”

“Is it important?” he asked, worried. It was sometimes difficult to differentiate from whom an emotion or thought had originated, but it was something they were getting better at.

Elrohir paused and looked up. “I don’t know…surely I would not be this worried over nothing?” 

Elladan could taste the unease his brother felt in the back of his throat and tried to push the feeling of comfort and surety through their bond. It worked somewhat.  He smiled and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to ignore the the way the skin on his back was crawling and twitching with unease. “It will come to you, I’m sure.” They had been through much together, and there was much more to come. Understanding would come soon, he could feel it. 

“Yes,” Elrohir nodded, the anxiety he felt oozed over the bond, “but will it come in _time_?”

Elladan did not reply, there would be nothing he hadn’t already said that would comfort his twin. He settled for remaining a solid presence beside him for the rest of the day, trying to follow Bilba’s orders and keep the dwarves occupied. He told tales of great battles and friendship between elves and Dwarves and when things were not so terrible. He taught them swears in Elvish and even a few drinking songs, asking if they could do the same in return. They learnt many new songs as they prepared to leave Beorn’s Hall in the morning. 

As they might have guessed however, it was harder to keep King Thorin occupied and the Dwarf, unless directly addressed or needed to give an order, remained silent and sullen. He often took time staring off into space while they rode, either Gandalf or Dwalin leading the way toward Mirwood, _brooding_ as Bilba would have said. 

Elladan and Elrohir conferred, thinking of ways they could get the Dwarven king to join in more, noticing that the only time he ever really seemed to pay attention was when they mentioned Bilba. They were not alone in their observations as their companions often shared meaningful looks and hushed conversations in Khuzdul, making it obvious about whom they spoke. 

When they reached the edge of Mirkwood they set up camp and released their mounts to a waiting Beorn. Aside from one, which Gandalf was going to take with him, the horses and ponies eagerly raced from the sickly forrest. 

“I have business to attend to. Expect me at the overlook, do _not_ go in without me.” He sent Thorin a warning look. It was clear what he meant to say.

_We all know how well that turned out._

Thanks to Bilba they might reach a more favourable end this time — which they would, Bilba would settle for no less. However, as Gandalf galloped away, unease sat heavily with Elladan and Elrohir as they looked at the blackened twisted branches with pale faces. Their father was not on particularly good terms with King Thranduil, and they had known that the Greenwood was sick, but had not imagined it to be so…so…

“Enough for a whole shirt!” the loud whisper was as blunt and indiscreet as the Dwarves themselves, momentarily startling the elves from their dark train of thought. 

As soon as they looked over, Gloin, Oin and Balin switch to the rough, rumbling tones of Khuzdul and it was only when Dwalin stood and walked over to their silent leader that their conversation turned to low grumbling and quick hand signals. Those who were setting up camp for the night lingered in order to hear the conversation better.

*****

“I do not need a minder” Thorin huffed as Dwalin sat beside him and began sharpening his axes. 

“I know.” 

The Company were not subtle, and he had noticed each and every glance his way, including Bilba’s elves who seemed determined to draw him out of the quiet contemplation he’d been cultivating since their Hobbit’s departure. She must have said something to them, otherwise he doubted they would have tried so hard to engage him. “You had better sit closer to the fire for more light if you’re going to do that.” 

It was a poor excuse to get Dwalin to leave and they both knew it.

“And should I leave you here to sit an’ sulk?”

Thorin frowned. “I am not sulking.”

“Aye, and I’m a fairy princess.” His friend scoffed.

Thorin waited for Dwalin to speak, to ask him outright rather than mutter and gossip about it as the others were doing, but as minutes passed by with only the steady scrape of metal to listen to Thorin was the one to break the quiet.

“I was right.” He said, wondering why the tight knot in his chest seemed to twist so. “Partially.” 

Dwalin gave no indication that he was listening, the steady scraping continued, masking most of the low words Thorin spoke to his friend. 

“Remember our conversation in Bree? We were— _had_ been something more the last time, though I don’t think she realises it.” 

Dwalin hummed, “You gave her your bead.”

Thorin nodded and looked at his hands. “I did, though I don’t think she knows it’s significance. Only that it is important to me, and perhaps enough to come back to us.” The knowledge of what they were, or could have been, added to the weight on his shoulders. “I let her leave to go to her death.”  His nails pressed deep into his palms leaving half moon depressions in the callused skin, feeling sadness and regret swell in his chest, pounding against his ribs and wrapping tightly around his lungs. Had it always been so hard to breathe?

Dwalin sighed heavily and lay down his axes, leaning one muscled arm against his knee and turning so he could look into Thorin’s face with a scowl that reminded him of Dis all too well. “Do you really think she and the elf are going to give up so easily? Did you imagine she’d get on the eagle and when she got bored of the tasteless elven bread she’d toss herself from the bird’s back and claim it was all too much?” 

Thorin shook his head, closing his eyes as his shoulders slumped. The idea of anything being ‘too much’ for Bilba Baggins was absurd. There were few who would risk themselves so readily for others and after all she’d gone through she was willing to do it all over again.

Apparently seeing _something_ satisfactory on Thorin’s face, Dwalin nodded and looked ready to turn in for the night. They had a long day ahead of them tomorrow. 

“Tough as nails, our Hobbit, though you ought to have a little more faith in your One than that.”

_My what?_

Thorin’s head snapped up. “She’s not my one—”

Dwalin blinked and faked sudden surprise. “Is she not? If that’s the case then I suppose you’ve got a few hundred Mithril shirts kicking about. You can give me one and I’ll count it as a friendly gesture for my years of putting up with your stubborn arse.”

“No—“

“I’ll tell the others. They’ll be mighty relieved to know that the attention you paid each other was jus’ you bein’ friendly.” Dwalin stood and stretched, and Thorin suddenly became aware that all talk in the camp had paused. “Imagine if we’d been right! It’d be a damn sight worse travellin’ with two love birds. I bet Fili and Kili would have been scarred for life if they’d stumbled upon the two of you ‘gathering firewood’—“

Between one blink and the next Dwalin found himself on the floor, breath leaving his lungs in a whoosh as Thorin pinned him against the dirt. 

“Don’t talk about her like that. She deserves our respect—“

Dwalin wasn’t hurt, so much as surprised, though honestly he should have known better than to goad their King so thoroughly. “Oh she has it, alright.” Dwalin grinned. Realisation and something like triumph gleaming in his eyes. 

Thorin felt as though the floor had opened up beneath him and he’d fallen into a trap. Dwalin easily broke his grip and they stood.

“Don’t you have things to be getting on with?” Thorin barked at the camp feeling too hot all of a sudden. His skin prickled unpleasantly and he fought not to scratch at it. 

Talk and action returned suddenly, even the twin elves, who had been watching openly, turned red cheeked and hurried away to attend some task or another. Thorin stomped back to the log he had occupied, a good place for first watch, and was annoyed when Dwalin followed him. At least now they might have a little bit of privacy now they had ‘caught’ the other’s listening in. “What do you want, Dwalin?” Thorin mumbled when Dwalin sat beside him.

“I want you to stop bein’ so miserable. She made the choice to go and nothin’ you said would have stopped her.” Dwalin nudged Thorin with his elbow. “And…yer know…no good ever comes from denying yer One, Thorin.”

“But—she—“ Thorin growled in frustration and ran a hand through his hair, pausing at the feel of the band in his braid rather than the comforting weight of his bead. “How can you be sure? How can I be sure? I am a King, Dwalin, my duty comes before all else and I imagine there would be few who would look upon it with favour…”

“ _We_ know her worth, Thorin.” Dwalin looked at him as though he was being particularly thick. “I would offer to defend her honour but I think she’d do a better job of it. You never know, she may kill Smaug herself and stun any of those idiots who migh’ protest. Bilba Dragonslayer…it’s got a nice ring to it.”

Thorin felt the colour drain from his face. The thought of Bilba facing and killing Smaug singlehandedly was both terrifying and left him feeling strangely warm, almost as if…no. Definitely not. It was simply terrifying. He would not want Bilba anywhere near Smaug especially after facing whatever horrors lay in Mordor. They would be best to kill him before she returned. He would get a message to Dain and begin setting up defences for when the Orc and Goblin armies arrived. Thankfully, Dwalin seemed to have decided he’d prodded Thorin enough for now and they sat in silence until Kili brought them bowls of Bombur’s stew, which was very good. 

Dwalin huffed loudly when he saw how Thorin stared intensely at the chopped mushrooms floating at the top.

“Eat it before it gets cold, Thorin.” Dwalin muttered, finishing the last of his own portion with a slurp. He tossed the empty bowl to Bofur who would wash and pack them and looked back at Thorin, only to hear his friend sigh and sip half heartedly at the cooling stew. “By my beard, I hope she hurries up. I don’t think I can deal with your miserable arse for much longer and it’s barely been a day.” Dwalin cursed, patience wearing thin.

Thorin scowled at him “What is that supposed to mean?”

Dwalin scoffed. “It means perk up, stop pinin’ and focus on getting through this blasted forrest…or else you won’t have to worry about explainin’ yer feelings to Bilba because it’ll be _King Fili_ sitting on the Throne of Erebor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I graduate in two months and I have so much to do it's actually a joke so another update might not be for a while, but the fic is moving along and I -will- finish it!

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for The Hobbit encompasses my deep love for Fem! Bilbo, fluff and time travel, I hope you like it :)  
> I have a Tumblr where I post Hobbit/LOTR things and fanart (both mine and others) http://fatynthemachine.tumblr.com/ come and say hi :)


End file.
